America's Birthday
by Nenema
Summary: Ivan would make them pay. He would make them wish so desperately that they had never set foot on American soil or even laid eyes on Alfred.  Ivan was giddy at deciding they will soon not be able to lay eyes on much of anything ever again.
1. Chapter 1

Hi there guys! I am a long time reader/fan of this website but this is the first story I have ever submitted! So I am a little new to the workings of the site and ask that you please be patient with me!

This story was inspired by the WIP comic I'm doing on DA, just search my user name on Deviantart, Nenema.

Anyway hope you enjoy the first chapter, I apologize for it's shortness. Please feel free to tell me of grammar mistakes, I will greatly appreciate it and take the time to correct them :]

Cheers!

Hot…when did it get so hot? Granted it was July and that particular month was known for being stifling at times. However the sun wasn't even out yet for peet sake! Curling into himself Alfred scrunched up his nose; the slow movement made him aware of just how damp the bedding had gotten from his sweat. With a frown he tried unsuccessfully to will away the sick stickiness that clung to seemingly ever nook and cranny of his body. It really must be one of the worst sensations he morosely decided, when hot air touches damp, clammy flesh. He took in a few shaking breaths before slowly opening his eyes. Had Alfred a mirror opposite of him, and his bedroom not quite so dark he would have known immediately something was very wrong.

Everything seemed slow, intensely thick and just so _so_ hot, Alfred couldn't recall waking up to ever take quiet so much effort. Then again why had he waken at all? There was a small tendril in his chest, just behind his diaphragm that tightened into a spiny coil of panic. Bringing himself to a quick upright position Alfred's blue eyes sharpened, pupils dilating as he held his breath and _listened_. The old mattress groaned angrily protesting the sudden disturbance. Alfred did not, _could not_ hear the mattress's squeak over the steady building sound. America's ears were overflowing with the dull roar of panic, the sound reminding him of angry honeybees. The heat seemed to intensify just then by at least fifty degrees. Blotchy smudges of bright neon red hungrily consumed his vision before fading out to a murky green. Gritting his teeth till it hurt he brought his slick palms to eyes_, pressing_ in, Alfred desperately willed himself to _calm down_.

"It's ok…I'm ok. It's ok. I'm ok." The words tumbled skittishly from his trembling lips. "It's ok…. I'm ok…I'm ok. I'm ok."

The red was growing bolder, nipping and biting sharply at his already diminishing nerves, rivaled only with that of the burning heat. The _heat_. Alfred's hands fell away from his eyes to find purchase again in his hair, mouth falling open. It suddenly dawned on him that it wasn't the _room_ that was hot….it was _him_. America was blistering and _burning_ away from deep within his core, Alfred's heart nearly burst with bright, sharp dread. Swallowing thickly he realized he had felt this sensation before.

Alfred wrenched the blankets from his legs and stumbled to his covered window. Absently he noted the dusty dim light tracing the borders of the curtains a saturated red. The blond gripped the starchy blue fabric, fingers digging in and shaking terribly. When had he gotten this hot? He'd felt fine the night prior when he went to bed. The coil of panic stretched up and tightened around his throat choking him.

"Impossible. I haven't done….This can't happen today! Not today! It's my…my…" Pale fingers peeled away the curtains. Alfred stopped breathing and promised himself he was still dreaming. That he _had_ to be dreaming. Deep down he knew however that his dreams didn't consist of sickly sweating or a heat that licked at him from within. His dreams never instilled in him such a terrible and intense panic. Most of all Alfred's dreams never featured black birdlike war planes appearing over the bloodied morning horizon of his capitol.

"No….not today! This doesn't…._can't_ happen on…." The planes grew closer, low growling voices louder until Alfred covered his ears. "Not today…"

He felt as if his heart was exploding and he could suddenly feel _them_ in his capital. Alfred's people's screams began ringing in his ears and chest, splintering him apart. He felt them dieing. It was his children's deaths that were burning him.

Falling to his knees Alfred's blue eyes glossed over, turning crimson. The subtle change in eye color that transpires in a nation who is being invaded. His capitol _burned_ as the foreign warplanes unloaded their bombs, smoke rising in fat, macabre shapes, chocking out the sky… _his_ sky. The need to _help_, protect and save his people crushed the logic to save himself, Alfred forced himself to his feet once more. Staggering through his house sobbing America forced himself out the safety of his front door to a world bleeding.

_It was July 4th, five thirty in the morning when America was invaded. July 4th was Alfred's birthday._

_**6:23am Russia:**  
><em>

Thundering through his large empty house Ivan wrenched his door open, gasping frantically and violet eyes wild. He paused only for a second before hurling himself forward once more shoving roughly through the knee-deep snow. Russia could not see, could not feel, and could not breathe! Feeling as if his world was being pulled into a bottomless void where Ivan was sure he would drown there from panic. Like a cup left to long under a sink facet, Russia threw back his head voice overflowing him.

"General winter!" Russia screamed to the dreary surroundings that trembled at his frigid rage. The usually calm nation was shaking and seething. Ivan's face set in a stone as he came to a stop, throwing back his head again. "GENERAL WINTER!"

Russia had woken up to his phone shrieking not but five minutes ago, his boss's frantic voice beating like frightened wings in his ear.

"_Ivan! America has been invaded!"_

Ivan didn't stick around to hear what else his boss had to say. Even if he had Russia wouldn't have been able to hear him over that one sentence repeating and ringing over and over in his ears. He hadn't even changed out of his sleeping attire, only sparing but a morsel of time to pull on his snow boots. Considering it briefly now Ivan grimly wished he hadn't even sacrificed that precious time.

"GENERAL WINTER!" Ivan could hardly remember ever yelling so loud, his voice sounding strange to him…. almost broken. 'The only way. This is the only way.' Ivan shivered as he scanned the sleepy snowdrifts. He could not take a plane; he would not make in time. Russia could almost see Alfred in his mind's eye, beaten, bloodied and so horrifically shattered. Ivan could envision America's vibrant blue eyes turning red then going glassy, Russia's blood ran cold.

Ivan was about to yell again when suddenly the wind picked up and the sky darkened. Russia almost smiled in relief… _almost_. The wind's invisible fingers gently began brushing through his ashy tresses as a mother's hand would to a beloved child. Ivan knew then that _he_ was there and listening, summoned by his child's frantic screaming. The invisible fingers plucked questionably at his nightshirt prompting him to speak before he could freeze. Russia wasted no time in a lengthy explanation; General winter already knew what was happening in America, _to_ America. General Winter was everywhere and nowhere and Russia was running out of time.

"You will take me to America _now_." Ivan demanded, the wind withdrew its caressing fingers and stood eerily still. Ivan squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. "It is the only way to reach _him_ in time."

"How shall you even begin to know where to find him?" The raspy whisper came from behind Ivan but he did not turn around. "He is lost amongst his people…"

"I will find him." Ivan snarled. "I _will_ find him!"

"Such a request you ask of me Vanya…. " The whisper brushed past her ears, circling around him. Russia stood motionless, violet eyes brutally darkening.

"There is no other way." Russia hissed in desperation. "He's dying! He's dying!"

The wind picked up, howling. "What shall you do when you find _them_?" The soft intangible voice of General Winter inquired.

"I will return the favor they bestowed onto Alfred of course."

"Get dressed Vanya, hurry!" The wind pushed him urgently back toward his door; Russia let it guide him and began stumbling and sprinting. Raceing through his house once more Ivan snatched his clothes, yanking them on as he went. The last item he grabbed was his water pipe, it's metal gleaming as dangerously as Ivan's eyes. Slamming the heavy oak doors shut, Russia bounded back out into the clearing and waited.

His breath coming out in heavy uneven white puffs, he was about to shout for General Winter again until he felt himself being lifted. The ground suddenly raced away from Russia's feet. Ivan's vision filled with rich violets and deep grey blues of his homeland's sky. He felt a hot, tight knot settle like thick dough in his stomach and he grinned his childish smile. Russia grinned until he was sure his cheeks would start splitting. Ivan would make them pay. He would make them wish so desperately that they had never set foot on American soil or even laid eyes on Alfred. Ivan was giddy at deciding they will soon not be able to lay eyes on much of anything ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

_**One Week Prior **_

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><p><em>"Hey don't pull that crap on me you giant grape Popsicle!" America placed his gloved hands on Ivan's shoulders and smiled brilliantly.<em>

_"Alfred that doesn't even make sense…." Russia forced a frown to keep himself from smiling. America really was so delightfully odd sometimes._

_"Sure it makes sense! I wouldn't have said it if it didn't! And don't even try to change the subject!" Alfred gently squeezed Ivan's shoulders to drive his point home._

_"For there to be a 'subject' there would have to be a point." Russia inclined a silver eyebrow. "This event unfortunately is rare when one is conversing with you, America."_

_The two nations were standing in the boardroom where the world meeting had just ended. Most of the other nations had filed out, leaving Russia and America mostly alone save for the few besides them that were milling around or packing up their notes. Alfred and Ivan faced each other, silhouetted by the room's large bay windows that overlooked London. England had insisted that the next world meeting be in his country due to the disaster of the previous one in America's. It was hardly his fault that there had been a sudden heat wave and that the building they were meeting in decided to fail by it's AC up and dying. No chance of a heat wave here in London however, it hadn't stopped raining since the meeting started three days prior. Alfred watched the shadows of raindrops cast by the window and amber light outside trace Ivan's face, America decided he liked the rain._

_"Alfred your mind is somewhere else perhaps?" The American nation jumped, startled out of his musings. Russia chuckled heartily his deep laugh rumbling through his chest. Alfred's fingers that were still in contact with Ivan began to dance and tingle. Caught red-handed Alfred bowed his head sheepishly and slid his hands from the broad shoulders of the other nation. He missed the flicker of emotion that flashed across Russia's face._

_"Come now America what is it you are after?" Russia stepped into Alfred's personal space, bowing slightly so that he could meet Alfred's blue eyes. "You must tell me yes?"_

_Bristling warmly at the close contact Alfred tilted his head and responded smartly. "Well if you are gonna play that way then maybe I won't ask you my awesome question!" Russia paused at this briefly before snorting bemusedly._

_"You will tell me." Russia leaned in further. America knew he was attempting to extract the information through intimidation. Well two could play that game!_

_"I dunno Braginski, what'cha gonna do If I don't?" America held back a chuckle of excitement at their little game. He loved how Russia would indulge his whimsy, unlike the others._

_The corner of Russia's lips twitched in an almost smile, his violet eyes danced mischievously. Ivan pressed forward slowly as he moved even further into American territory, grazing Alfred's cheek with his own, America was suddenly aware that he could smell him. Russia smelled of soap and spicy vanilla, taking in a silent breath Alfred's heart shuttered nervously in his ribs. They stayed like that for a moment, both enjoying their childish game of chicken before Russia finally spoke._

_"If you do not tell me your secrets then I shall be forced to make you." The words brushed past Alfred's left ear carried on warm air. The shorter nation shivered pleasantly._

_"Oh yeah?" Leaning back somewhat from Russia, Alfred once again met his purple gaze._

_Russia's eyes darkened as he half spoke, half growled back "Yeah."_

_On an impulse America closed the gap between them and nipped Russia's sizable nose. "Ok you convinced me big guy!" He then proceeded to dance away giggling as Ivan reached for him. "I want you to come to my birthday party!" Russia stopped his attempts to ensnare the other nation, blinking slowly. America's birthday was exactly a week away; Russia knew this because he had been planning to send Alfred a gift._

_"You…you do?" Russia's voice was suddenly small and hopeful. It had been such a long time since America had asked him to visit let alone invite him to his birthday party. Russia felt that his heart might fall out. "Are you…sure?"_

_"Sure I'm sure!" America approached Russia again and nudged him gently with his shoulder. "I mean if you want to…I would really like it if you could be there."_

_Ivan closed his eyes and smiled a genuine smile. "Then I shall be."_

_America shuffled his feet sheepishly, looking at Russia shyly. "You promise?"_

_Ivan locked his gaze with Alfred._

_"Nothing could keep me away, solnyshko moyo."_

* * *

><p><strong>Present Time<strong>

Its impossible to say how long Alfred had been lying there. Had someone asked him he would swear to him or her that he had been there for days. At least it seemed so to him. America numbly acknowledged that he was extremely uncomfortable; there were jagged pieces of something digging into his spine and gravel biting at his neck. He however did not have enough mind or strength to care. The ruble was all that was left of his beautiful capitol and of his heart. Staring blandly up at the burning sky that had been so blue America began to cry. He wanted to get up again, he wanted to protect his people, save his people…. But he was so tired and so hurt. The air smelled of burning gasoline and death, the appalling odor clung and bit at his throat and nose leaving them raw. The screaming had become less frequent, distant explosions drowning them out. America closed his streaming eyes and focused on breathing, it hurt to breath.

America was sprawled out in such a way that resembled a child's dropped and forgotten rag doll. Alfred couldn't remember how he had even come to be there. He recalled spending the majority of the morning to early afternoon frantically helping his frightened children get out of the way of the bombs. Their shocked eyes and anxious voices haunted him, tormenting his battered heart. He had saved many and he had failed many. The capitol was mostly empty now but he knew his fleeing children were hardly safe outside of the wrecked city. He could feel _them_ everywhere, like a slow encroaching cancer that was becoming more and more aggressive as it spread. His capitol was only the beginning…

The blond knew that his boss was dead because he had felt him die. It is a terrible pain for a nation when his or her boss is killed. He could still feel the loss profoundly; it was an acute spiny torment that left his insides twisted in misery. Alfred wanted it all to go away. He wanted the whole event to have just been a nightmare, awful yes but unreal and escapable. He didn't even know _who_ had invaded him. The attack was so brutal and abrupt that most, if not all communication and national intelligence had been stunned and stupefied. The only way that Alfred knew the invasion was absolute and nation wide was because he could _feel_ it, a sixth sense his children and leaders were without. There was no way of even alerting anyone now; everyone who was anyone was either dead or hiding.

"Completely taken by surprise…" America rasped to no one and that was the truth. No one had seen it coming; Alfred's biggest concern had been the preparation for his Birthday the following day. "Which is today." He whispered, blinking slowly.

"Happy birthday to me…" America closed his burning eyes allowing himself to drift away to merciful darkness.

Steel-toed boots made contact with shattered ground as Ivan slowly became aware of his surroundings. General Winter had placed him just outside of what Ivan guessed was Alfred's capital, America's heart. It was nearly impossible to truly be able tell the specific location because everything was so devastatingly damaged that it could have been any city in any country. Ivan took in a slow hot breath and allowed a moment to overlook the ruined city, trying to estimate his position. It was now mid afternoon, he knew this by his watch and not by the sun because there was no sun. All sunlight had been completely choked out by thick plumes of oily smoke rising from the skeletal buildings. What little sunlight that could get through was filtered to a gruesome red. The street that Ivan was standing on had deep crevasse running through it that reminded him of spider web cracked glass. Other large chunks of the street leading into the city were missing completely. In only a matter of hours America's heart had become Ground Zero. Russia glanced behind him, eyes following the road leading out of the capitol. His chest constricted when he saw other smoke clouds on the horizon. The invasion was not just in America's capitol but possibly the entire country.

As to who had invaded America was still the big mystery. When Ivan had left his home he had the radio still turned on and had heard that the world's countries were scrambling in fear and confusion. Perhaps they had uncovered who had invaded Alfred by now then again perhaps not. Russia hardly cared about who it had been. He did know that he would make who ever was responsible pay dearly. Before Russia had left he had felt his boss make the call to send reinforcements to America. He could feel the comforting presence of his children making their way to him now. Some of them almost as enraged as he was…almost. Ivan was pleased his boss wasn't upset about his sudden departure, even if he had been it wouldn't have really mattered to him.

"If I find him dead…." Ivan whispered to himself as he started forward, remembering his and Alfred's last interaction just a week prior. Russia could still feel America's warm hands on his shoulder. He could clearly see the brilliant smile Alfred had flashed him when Ivan agreed to go to his birthday party.

Ivan paused when something snagged at his foot, looking down Russia's insides went cold. There, among shattered glass and tangled in the sharp corners of ruble was a flag, Alfred's flag. It took Ivan a few moments to identify it because it was so ripped and dirty. Bending down he gently picked it up, eyes narrowing as he noted the dark stains covering most of the fabric. It was then that Ivan became aware of the bodies. He missed them before because they looked like pieces of ruble or were obscured by fallen building debris. Closest to Russia was the body of a female youth; she faced away from him, half curled up on her side. She was wearing a patriotic American shirt in the spirit of the holiday with white shorts that were nearly black from ashes by now. Her hair was the color of sunlight, just like… Russia choked in a staggering breath, these were _Alfred's children_ and they were **dead**. Looking back down at the material cradled in his gloved hands Ivan suddenly realized the dark stains that covered the flag was blood, **American blood**.

It was then that Russia's heart fell out.

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES<strong>

You all have been great! Thank you so much for the awesome reviews and support by following the story! I know it's a bit slow going but I wanted to give the background in the fan fiction that I didn't give in the Comic I have on DA. If you are interesting in reading the comic (which came before this fiction) you can read it on Deviantart just search my user name, which is Nenema! The comic is a bit further along then the fic at the moment so if you want to see/know more on what's to come or going on please feel free to check it out!

Also if you guys see any grammar mistakes or spelling errors please don't hesitate to point them out!

Thank you again for the reviews they are always appreciated! 3

**Translation** :]

solnyshko moyo (my Sun)


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry the update took so long! Anyway here it is and thank you for waiting!

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><p><strong>ONE WEEK PRIOR: Just after talking with Russia<strong>

"It's…still raining…" Alfred heaved a sigh as he slipped out the conference building. The blond nation paused just outside to take shelter from the roof's overhang. The rainwater was running in small waterfalls off the ledge, almost touching his nose. It was not simply raining but raining hard, really hard, the weather had taken a turn for the worst since going separate ways from Russia. Alfred's lips tugged downward as he considered how to successfully breach the 'waterfall'.

"Alfred…"

Startled, America whirled around. The blonde's surprised expression sifting and softening upon realizing who had spoken his name.

"Hello England" Alfred chirped brightly and gestured to the sky." Looks like another beautiful day in Lond-" America stopped, taking in his former charge's expression.

England looked troubled to say the least. His shoulders hunched underneath his green sweater vest, hands fussing with the ends of his sleeves. The British nation's green eyes were raised to meet Alfred's but they held a rare uncertainty, saturated heavily in grey from the gloomy weather. Alfred could just make out the worry lines around England's brows causing them to crease and crinkle. Arthur stood about four feet from America, his stance reminding Alfred of someone whom was either preparing for a fight or to beat a quick retreat. America turned and faced England completely. His head tilted while he slowly raised his gloved hands to pacify the other, movements careful as if he were coaxing a jumpy animal to approach him.

"Aurthur…. What is it?" England blinked before glancing away, he began chew his lower lip; Alfred feared the skin might break.

"America… that is…Alfred. We should, that is we need to….or rather must.."

"Dude spit it out already!" America laughed hoping to ease the other.

His jibe thankfully worked when he noted England's green eyes darken in irritation, Alfred relaxed marginally. An irritated England was familiar and safe. He could talk to irritated England not jumpy or nervous England, nervous England was unsettling for Alfred.

"Fine you yank!" Arthur paused, rearranged his facial features. He realized his previous behavior was upsetting America and that was not his desired goal. "We must discuss what has been happening of late, regarding the new…alliance…" America felt his heart lurch and break a little more.

"I don't want to talk about it." Alfred interrupted abruptly, he tuned back around and this time didn't hesitate to walk out into the rain. He would much rather get wet then continue the conversation England was about to have with him. Why didn't they understand that he didn't want to talk about because it hurt to goddamn much? His blond hair began sticking to his face and jaw line, it was so cold. America's eyes hardened and he quickened his pace. If he could just get to his car befor-

"Alfred!" Strong hands gripped his right arm, wrenching him to abrupt stop; there would be bruises there later. There was a time not long ago when England would not have been able to force Alfred to stop. There was a time when Alfred was strong but things change and not always for the better. America froze and waited. It was late; the only sound was the rain dancing across the pavement and England's harsh breathing.

"I don't want to do this right now…"

"I don't bloody well care what you do are do not want to do right now! You need to hear this! To face it!"

"What do you want me to do England?" America tried to snap his arm out of the tight grasp, he couldn't. He faced England again, eyes burning and throat tight. "What can I do? I don't have any influence on what is happening with him anymore! He's not….I…I'm not who I use to be…and I'm…" Alfred was glad for the second time that day that it was raining, the downpour made his tears invisible.

"You can't just stop trying Alfred! If anyone can change his mind, make him listen, its you!" England loosened his hold on America's arm and gently began moving his thumb in circles around the bruised flesh in a silent apology. England stepped closer to America his eyes imploring and desperate. Something gave in Alfred's chest.

"You think I don't want to? That I don't want to help him! I can't! His boss won't let me and I'm…I'm just so…tired" America leaned away from England, his voice breaking. "I can't invade him to stop what's happening… he's… my…my" Alfred's free hand came up and he pressed his fingers into his eyes, as if he could literally hold in the leaking tears and himself together.

"Alfred…"

"I'm not doing this right now, I have to go now England." America took a few shaking breaths and tried to pull himself from England's hands but they held fast. Arthur's other hand came up and claimed America's other arm at the bicep.

"Don't you see what will happen in you don't do something? " England shook him, America's glasses slid down his nose at the movement. He couldn't really see out of them anymore, they were spotted with raindrops. America's face glazed over.

"Why are you even asking me?" Alfred wanted to rest his forehead against England's shoulder, the way he use to do when he was a child. "Shouldn't you be having this conversation with a nation who actually has power?"

"Power and brute strength isn't always the answer America."

"That's kinda funny coming from you, considering our history." It was quiet then for about five seconds; Alfred knew this because he counted his heartbeats.

"If you think attacking me will make me leave you alone then you are mistaken Alfred"

Alfred dropped his gaze, ashamed. He knew England just wanted to set things right, he was trying to, once again help him. America also knew however that England couldn't help him or stop what was happening, he was barking up the wrong tree.

"I…I'm sorry. You know I didn't…"

"It's alright. I've never been terribly skilled with handling you…"

Alfred gazed up shyly, and smiled despite himself. "Ditto."

They stood there in silence again, longer this time. Alfred watched England's face carefully and England watched him back. America knew what Auther was going to say before he said it and wished hopelessly he could make him stop.

"We…need you Alfred." A beat, the sky darkened. "He needs you." The rain started coming down harder, beating down on their heads.

"Why?" America whispered unsure if England could hear him, but he had. England had always been able to hear America, even when none else could or cared to.

"Because Alfred…" The hand's on America's shoulder's marginally tightened. "You're the hero."

America laughed then, an unhappy sound that was swallowed by the rain. He took a step back and England allowed him to this time, blue eyes locking with green.

"Not anymore."

* * *

><p><strong>PRESENT TIME<strong>

Russia had not stopped moving and searching through America's capitol for over three hours. He would only pause momentarily to help Alfred's children, many he had literally carried to safety. They did not question who he was, Russia was sure they understood somehow that he was not one of them, that they could sense it. However they also could sense that unlike the other outsiders he was not going to harm them, so none resisted his aid. Ivan was painfully aware there was many more of them that needed help and he had to force himself to ignore this, to keep searching for Alfred. It was hard because he saw Alfred in each and every one of them. They all carried a piece of America; they were everything to Alfred so they were everything to him. As Russia gently carried them they would shyly reach for his hands or rest their heads against his broad chest. Their eyes carried a shock and sorrow that Ivan had seen in his people in times of invasion and war. Ivan wanted to scream in rage as he watched the innocence in their eyes slowly fade away and die. If his heart hadn't fallen out already it would have broken.

Closing his amethyst eyes he tried to calm his anger and fear. Russia could feel his own children nearing him, approaching American shores and that did help soothe him. Ivan opened his eyes and scanned the crumbling buildings and ruined streets. He could not remember ever feeling so helpless and angry. He was now in the center of the capital and still had not seen any sign of Alfred.

'What if I didn't make it? What if Alfred has already….' His thoughts trailed off then. Ivan couldn't allow him self to indulge such thoughts, they wasted time. Time Ivan knew that he did not have, that Alfred did not have. He was about to start out again when he heard a noise come from his left; he twisted his head toward to origin of the sound. It had been so small he almost missed it, had he been human he most certainly would have. The sound had come from an outcropping of building ruble that was about five yards from where he was standing in the middle of a broken road. Ivan moved toward it carefully, unsure if the sound had come from a solider of the invading enemy. Russia had not actually come across any of the mystery invaders but he did not take that as reassurance. He was not afraid of them; on the contrary he wanted to find them.

As he peered over the jagged ruble, fingering his pipe, Russia made out a slumped human figure leaning against a large piece of building debris. His mind raced when he saw the hair color from the bowed head was the same shade of Alfred's and at the same length. Russia hastened to the person's side, kneeling down he reached out with shaking hands and carefully cupped the individual's face up towards him. The person was indeed a boy and around Alfred's age, however it was not he... it was not Alfred. The boy was younger then Alfred and didn't wear glasses, his face was also rounder; he had yet to lose the baby fat in his pale checks that indicated youth. Russia had to crush the black disappointment that beat inside his ribs and twisted his insides until they splintered. Ivan's thoughts stopped entirely when the teenage boy's eyes slowly opened and looked at him.

The boy blinked slowly as if waking up from a very deep sleep; his eyes were the color of the rich hot chocolate Alfred had given him once to try. Brown eyes moved across Russia's face and he weakly smiled at him; sensing like the other's that Russia was there to help him.

"H…Hey there." The words were halted and frail, tumbling from pale lips.

"Hello little one." Ivan murmured back.

They boy's smiled wider and he tried to reach for Russia's hand's still cupping his face. Russia kept one hand on the teenager's face and used his now free one to clasp the boy's reaching other, the teenager sighed in relief.

"I was afraid I was going to…be alone." He spoke slowly his voice falling in volume, losing what little strength it had before. It was then that Russia noticed all of the blood. He didn't know how he could have missed it before. The boy's bright blood was everywhere. It painted the ruble around them and was the darkest just under the boy's ribs. Russia tried to reach for the spot but the teenager held fast to his hand.

"I'm afraid it's a little late fo…for that." He said smiling sadly.

Russia wanted to argue with him, tell him he could save him even when he knew he couldn't. Instead Russia moved closer to the boy and leaned his forehead against the others.

"Tell me your name."

The boy chuckled weakly his brown eyes sparkling, absurdly pleased with Russia at such a simple request. Ivan was once again reminded of Alfred, he grit his teeth knowing what was about to happen, knowing he could do nothing to stop it.

"It's Charlie…Char…Charlie Chatham. M..My friends…" Charlie paused then taking a few desperate shallow breaths, Ivan waited for him to finish. "My friends call me CC…"

"Thank you." Russia nudged his temple with the child's, listening to his slowing breaths.

A few moments later Charlie died still smiling and looking into Russia's eyes. Ivan stayed there for a few minutes trying to control his breathing. Ivan had watched people die before had even held them like he had Charlie. This was different though; he had never held one of Alfred's children as they died. Ivan had just witnessed a piece of Alfred wither away. He stood back up after carefully closing the boy's eyes. Ivan stared at Charlie's closed eyes bearing the terrible knowledge that he would never open them ever again. Ivan felt something inside of him snap, giving way to something terrible and frantic. Russia needed to find America…

'I was afraid I was going to…be alone.' Charlie's faint voice echoed through his ears and heart until they became Alfred's voice, Alfred's words. Russia began running, screaming America's name.

* * *

><p><strong>2 Years After Cold war<strong>

"What do I do with this…?"

"Well most people, open them and eat what's inside."

Russia looked at America skeptically.

"You want me to rip open this heart shaped box and eat its contents?" Ivan's nose crinkled at the thought of such a morbid action.

"Well jeez when you say it like that you make me seem like some sort of monster!" Alfred rolled his eyes at Russia, who was carefully inspecting all angles of the Valentine's chocolate box.

"I will not be taking part in such a gruesome American ritual." Ivan said in his rich Russian accent before attempting to hand the box back to America.

"You can't just give it back!" Alfred backed away hands up, eyes flashing with irritation. "It's a gift! I got it for you!"

"Why?" Russia's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. "It's a trick then? A spying device perhaps?" Ivan began inspecting the pink box with a new avid intensity that America had only seen scientists do while assembling nuclear bombs. "Very cleaver trick Amerika…"

"It's not a trick, damn it! It's a gift I tell you! A gift!" Alfred gestured wildly at the box dwarfed in Ivan's large hands. "The cold war is over, remember? This is a show of my good will!"

"By giving me a heart that is intended to be disfigured for petty rewards? A hidden meaning America?" Russia began chanting his creepy laugh.

"No! Its intended to be enjoyed and appreciated as a symbol of affection from one person to another!" Alfred stopped mid rant, realizing what he had said. "No…wait that came out wrong, I didn't-"

But it was too late. Russia was already blushing a color that rivaled that of the Valentines heart box and was beaming stupidly at Alfred. It had been two years since the end of the Cold war and America was tired of the lingering tension between he and Russia. Before the mess of their disagreeing governments Russia and America had been chummy, Alfred had even considered Ivan a friend. He didn't expect things to go back to being dandy right away but that didn't stop him from wanting them to. America had always respected Russia for his endurance and fascinating culture. It was not by his or his people's design that they had become enemies and he hoped Ivan felt the same way. When the nation's governments made war with one another it was the people and the personified countries that suffered.

So it had been his brilliant idea to gift Russia a festive holiday treat from his country. It had yet to be Valentine's Day but this was the only time that America would see Russia, the annual world meeting. Yet he had botched it, like most his good intentions they never went the way he hoped. Russia stared at him expectantly and Alfred didn't really know what to say. Ivan probably thought he was some creepy loser now after his outburst. America had not intended to make a fool of himself so quickly into their interaction, he had even planned out how it was suppose to go in his head. Something along the lines of Russia being touched and then engaging him in a friendly conversation similar to the ones they use to enjoy together. No such luck. His efforts had been met with suspicion and downright rejection, and then he had to go and creep things up.

"Spasiba."

America's grim thoughts came to a halting stop. Alfred glanced up at Russia; almost forgetting the other was even there.

"What?" America asked. Russia smiled shyly still blushing.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Oh…Oh well that's..." America felt delirious from relief and giddy with joy. "That's my pleasure." They stood there for a few awkward moments until finally America inquired. "S..so… Are you going to open it?"

Russia blinked at America for a few long moments before smiling himself. "Nyet."

"What? Why not!" America exclaimed, his previous joy deflating like a popped balloon.

"Because I will not damage it." Russia paused to place the box into his coat's breast pocket then he locked gazes with Alfred. "It is special."

It was Alfred's turn to blush, which he did, and he hated himself for it. Blushing was torture, you know its happening and that it's going to get worst, yet there's nothing you can do about it. Despite your best efforts to distract your mind or place cool hands on heated cheeks.

"So you're just going to keep it and never open it?" Alfred asked.

"Da."

"That's lame dude! There is chocolate on the inside! It's meant to be eaten!"

Russia regarded America, Alfred could see that Ivan was trying to figure out how to correctly convey his actions in English. Alfred was touched that Russia would take the time and consideration to do so. Ivan was always considerate of Alfred, even in the worst conditions.

"At least this way…it will always be full."

Alfred did not know what to say and could not understand why he suddenly felt his throat tighten and eyes burn, like he was about to start crying.

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><p><strong>PRESENT TIME<strong>

A voice. A voice that seemed so far away, like it was moving underwater. America wanted to open his eyes, too look around and find the source of that voice. The sound was so different and familiar then that of his children's screaming. It sounded again closer this time, bubbling to the surface of Alfred's weary mind. He needed to listen because he knew somehow that this was very important.

"….RIKA!"

Alfred was trying. He was trying so hard to listen to this new and important sound but he was so tired and it seemed so far away. For a long time there was silence and Alfred felt profound loss until a few moments later it sounded again. This time he understood and opened his eyes.

"AMERIKA!"

There were thundering footsteps approaching him, he heard the person scrambling over the ruble to get to him and he wished he could help. All at once there were strong arms lifting him up away from the sharp edges of the ruins and cradling him with a gentleness he had never known. Suddenly he felt warm as his head fell forward and nestled into a strong chest. Alfred was so warm and he was sure he must have died finally.

"What… HAVE THEY DONE?"

The voice was so violent and so angry but Alfred was not afraid because he knew this voice. Large hands held him together, their fingers splayed across his aching back.

"It's alright now….dorogoy."

Alfred lifted his head and arms so that he may embrace the man who he knew and who had saved him.

"I'm here." The words were warm and rich as they brushed past America's left ear, warm frantic lips caress his cheek.

"Ru…Russia…?"

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES<strong>

I know it's a bit confusing having so much back and forth with the time periods, however its important I establish Ivan and Alfred's relationship prior to present time. Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the reviews/story favs/Author favs you just are just too fantastic! Thank you so much for reading and as a plug in its important to remember this fanfic is BASED OFF the comic I am illustrating out on DA. If you are interested in reading is just go to deviantart . com and search for my User name which is Nenema. The Comic is called "America's Birthday" and is a remake of a short comic I did a few years back!

Thanks so much! I will update soon!


	4. Chapter 4

OK let me briefly explain a few aspects of this story to clear some things up. :]

Firstly and most importantly I want you guys to know **this story is completely and utterly FICTIONAL**. The actions of the characters/ personified countries/ countries, is _totally based on my whimsy and fluff_. It does not ring 100% true in any sense. I say this as a disclaimer so that you guys don't think I'm trying to base these events on world affairs, which was a question from a reviewer. Although some events in this story may briefly relate to past true events (AKA Cold War) they are themselves untrue. This is why fan fiction is so delicious because it is whimsy. Although I would like to think that America and Russia in the real world will be total bros someday, this would greatly warm my heart as a fangirl.

As for some review questions regarding the conversation between America and England, all will become clearer as the story progresses. I like keeping things vague and slowly bringing them into focus. All of your reviews have been a delight and I would love to answer all of them but I really wanna get to writing more of this story which is what you guys are here for anyway. And yes I am aware that is an excuse but hey I would like to get this written and done before 4am!

Without further delay, grab a snack or some Vodka and settle in because here is Chapter 4!

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><p>"Ru…Russia?"<p>

_Why was Russia suddenly there?_ Hot ashes fell like snow as strong fingers brushed past and through Alfred's once golden hair, dusting them out. The sky looked like a giant open soar but it kept getting obscured from America's vision as his head fell heavily back and forth, cradled in strong arms and a hard but warm chest. Everything hurt but at the same time he felt safe which hardly seemed likely or even possible. Nightmares don't offer any relief, so why should this one be any different. Someone kept whispering his name in a voice that sounded as broken and just as bitter as the one howling inside Alfred's skull. The words that occupied his name flitted between polar emotions, dark raging furry and a hollowing sadness. It should have felt absurd to America that he wanted to comfort who was comforting him. However Alfred did feel bad and even guilty for making the other cry. He impossibly wished for a moment to compose himself. To make himself look not quiet so pathetic, so damaged. America wanted to reassure the other that everything would be ok. These the same words that were being whispered over and over again feverishly into his own ear. The worst part was when Alfred felt hot drops of water roll down his temple, cooling rapidly as it traveled down his chin. America felt guilty because he knew what those drops were. He had made the other cry.

_Why was Russia suddenly there? Honestly America hardly cared._

All that was important was that Ivan was there for Alfred. That someone was there. The only thing left sane amongst the hell that his country was in was that simple fact, Alfred was not alone. America had not been left to die and forgotten because there was still someone left to get angry for him. Someone was there to hold him, to cry for him, for his country and for his people. Most of which were scared, dead or dieing. All of which Alfred had failed. He should have known. Known that this was coming that invasion was eminent. America had been foolish in believing a simple party would make everything better. Believing that if they had just come Alfred could see _him_ and it would be better. America wanted _him_ to know that the new alliances did not matter as long as they could remain on fair terms. Alfred had been childish.

_Alfred had been wrong._

Russia clutched America to him. He could only translate a few words he spoke to Alfred from Russian to English. The other nation did not seem to care, America kept his face pressed into Ivan's chest breathing shallowly in and back out. Ivan busied himself with sweeping his hands over Alfred; gently pressing in to feel for broken bones and broken skin. There were a few breaks especially in America's arms and torso. This would help Russia decide on where to concentrate his children to aid America's people. The worst was not so much the broken bones but the split flesh and bruising. There was far to many abrasions to keep track of and Russia kept losing count. With a frustrated sigh Ivan finally stopped and just focused on trying to control his emotions. He hadn't realized he was crying until Alfred made a pained sound, muffled by his scarf. Russia cupped the back of Alfred's neck, supporting his head as pulled America's face away so he could hear him better.

"What was tha-?" Russia's voice caught as America opened his eyes slowly, their natural vibrant blue dull and glassy. Alfred's pupils were pinhead thin, surrounded by a bloody red hue that rivaled that of the burning sky. Russia tried to speak again but his throat suddenly hurt so much that it closed up, cutting off his ability to talk. America blinked slowly his eyes sluggishly opening and closing. Each time Alfred's eyelids shut Ivan would briefly panic until they opened back up again.

"I said…Sorry." America rasped. Ivan's eyes fell down to stare at the pale lips that had cracked open and were bleeding from America's brief words. Ivan was suddenly angry at himself.

"Why? Why would you have any…" A shuddering breath went ragged and wet through Russia's chest, up and then finally out his mouth and nose. " Reason to be sorry?"

Instead of speaking again America lifted a blooded gloved hand, torn so that a few bits of flesh peeked through, to Russia's cheek. With fingers a centimeter away from the bottom of Russia's jaw, America waited. A moment passed before Alfred brought his hand back away to show Ivan the moisture that had fallen onto his index finger. The droplet rapidly traveled down the underside of Alfred's finger before disappearing into a torn hole in his glove. Russia followed it and watched it grow red with America's blood before it vanished. It wasn't until the droplet was gone that Russia realized it was his own and that he was crying.

"I'm sorry." Alfred said again, weaker this time. Russia began shaking as hard as Alfred.

"Ridiculous…that's just so…." He leaned his forehead against Alfred's watching the American's eyes droop sleepily.

Alfred wanted so badly to stay awake. He was afraid that if he closed his eyes too long that Ivan would suddenly be gone just as suddenly as he had appeared. Talking had been _so_ hard though and Alfred was just _so_ tired. Russia was all around him, blocking everything out. Alfred kept his arms around Ivan as much as he could given that their forheads were pressed together. Alfred watched Russia watch him. Words that bleed in and back out from English to Russian kept spilling past Ivan's lips but Alfred didn't mind. H_e did not have to understand the words to know they were beautiful._ Alfred finally let his eyes slip closed knowing that what ever happened that at least Ivan was there.

At least _Russia cared._

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><p><em><strong>Two Years Before InvasionPresent Time...**_

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><p>Alfred had it all and now he had <em>nothing<em>.

It was gone.

_All of it._

He hadn't noticed the decline until it was too late, too far gone to get it back. England had told him once that it is not outside forces that bring down a powerful country but rather the country itself. That it rots from the inside out, like a ripe peach left out on the kitchen counter too long. The year Alfred totally lost everything had been 2033. This was not to say that the few years leading up to America's total fall from power had been a glass of cider, but that had been the year that truly marked his country's failure. At least that was what the news anchors had said. Despite the lesson to be learned time and time again about building an economy on a castle of cards, his children never learned. The only difference was that this time there were no cards left to rebuild again.

His country was hardly even his or his people's anymore, they owed too much money to the rest of the world for anything to be called their own. There was no one to blame really, because to many had played a hand in it all. His children had been forced to resign themselves to terrible inflation and an unemployment rate that put all other great depressions to shame.

"What shall we call _this_ then?" Alfred murmured looking out his apartment's living room window, eyes following the fat snowflakes falling outside. "The Great, _Great_ Depression?" His attempt at a small joke to lighten the room fell on deaf walls and his own tired ears. Alfred wondered if any of the other nations had ever wanted to get all of this over with, to resign.

Throw in the towel.

Call it quits.

Bowing out.

"There is no bowing out for us." America tightened his hands into fists. Letting out a long breath Alfred leaned his feverish forehead against the cool windowpane. He and his country had been ill for years.

America nearly fell over when a sharp and thundering knock came at his front door.

"Je…_**Jesus**_!"

The blond nation fisted the fabric covering his heart as he used his other hand to brace himself on the glass windowpane. These actions did nothing to help the sharp adrenaline that gnawed away at his stomach or his heart fluttering in his chest. To say America's nerves were fried was a gross understatement. Blue eyes snapped to his digital clock on the coffee table near by. England had always said having it there undermined the room's décor. For this reason alone Alfred had not moved the clock since he bought it.

"Who…who the hell?"

It was nearly midnight and last time America checked he was not Cinderella. He slowly edged toward his front door. Alfred's front entrance, if it could be called even that, was about as well lit as the rest of his room. The blond was sensitive to light from the fever-induced headache that never seemed to go away. Logically when ever America was in control of the light source in a room it was always kept very low, this unfortunately did not help his new fear of his front door because it was so dark and dare he say _eery_?

To make matters worst and more unsettling Alfred had not heard any footsteps approaching his home's front entrance, he usually did. _'I must have really been in deep thought….'_ He mused. _'I don't recall expecting anyone….if there was an emergency in my country my boss would have called first…he wouldn't just show up.'_ Alfred shivered, his toes twitching nervously in his woolen socks. He hated winter even if it was New Years Eve it was still cold as shit.

America jumped again when the knock repeated louder then before, this time he did fall over. Cursing he jumped back up with his cheeks pinker then that of the fever induced hue. It sounded as if a bear was knocking on his door. _'A freak'in bear! Jesus what if it's… a ghost bear?'_ Alfred stopped completely then, eyes widening in horror and he regarded the door with a new respect. It would make sense. No one would have seen **that** coming, a ghost bear that only came around on New Years Eve. The apparition would be able to wreak total and unthinkable horrors because everyone was unaware or drunk, maybe even both. America grabbed the digital clock from its four-year home on the coffee table, raising it above his head for a makeshift weapon.

"Think you could sneak up on me, didn't you ghost bear?" Alfred whispered edging once again toward his front door. "I may be sick but I won't go down without a fight!" America's voice broke growing in impressive volume until it was almost a yell. With a great burst of bravery and bravado he wrenched open his front door with a 'mighty' growl.

**"AH HAAA!"**

Russia had never seen a more adorable sight. There in front of him was Alfred, right arm raised clutching what looked to be a digital time telling clock. America's other arm was poised in a mid-karate chop his pink fingers trembling from either cold or excitement. The blond nation was almost totally facing Russia, America's slim legs, clad in Superman PJ pants, where spread out and firmly planted in what Ivan figured was suppose to be a 'heroic' fighting position. Russia forced himself not to linger too long on the American's flushed bare chest or abdomen, it only took a brief glance to note Alfred had lost weight.

_Too much weight._

However it was America's face that was the most interesting and endearing. Alfred's cheeks were a feverish ruddy pink that spread up to the tips of his ears and kissed his nose. This along with the obvious weight loss confirmed Russia's suspicion that Alfred was getting worst. America's eyes were bright vivid blue, somewhat hidden under his messy mop of golden hair. Ivan wondered if Alfred would yell at him if he ran his fingers through it, if only to tame it a bit. Finally Russia's purple eyes took in Alfred's still wide open mouth that was half way between snarling and yelling, probably both.

_'Even broken, he is beautiful.'_

Alfred blinked.

Russia blinked.

"What…If I may ask, are you _doing_ America?" It took everything in Russia not to smile; he did not want to hurt Alfred's already battered pride.

Alfred did not move at first. He kept staring at Russia as if he were expecting him to be some impossible spectacle. 'Or a creature from one of his Hollywood horror movies….' Russia lifted an eyebrow, once again looking the shorter man over. 'Which is probably not to far from the truth….' Russia waited patiently for a few awkward moments before trying again.

"I would truly hate to believe this is the way you greet all visitors who come to your…" Russia paused and leaned to the side to look past America's bare shoulder.

_"Home…."_

The small jibe snapped Alfred back into awareness. America straightened up and lowered his raised clock baring hand, his blue eyes regarding Russia with a mixture of irritation, embarrassment and interest. This odd talent was reserved for Alfred and his children alone. The unconscious ability to openly display intense emotions so avidly and sincerely was to many countries off-putting or intimidating. Russia on the other hand would purposely agitate America to watch these emotions flare up and play out. It was best when Alfred expressed them through his eyes though. Such a vivid blue that sharpened and burned as bright as the American's emotions themselves. Russia did not care if he was being greedy, his purple eyes locking with Alfred's flashing one's, he wanted to see and remember them all. Alfred said something then but Russia missed it, apologizing Ivan asked if America could please repeat himself.

"I said, _no I don't greet people this way usually! But most of my visitors don't come a-call'in at midnight_!" Alfred huffed cocking his head to a side watching Russia.

"It is not yet midnight Alfred. I would know this because I _planned_ it that way."

Russia used a large shoulder to nudge past America and into the apartment. Alfred sighed and let him. The apartment was small but comfortable. The walls were painted a rich creamy yellow that reminded Ivan of autumn sunflowers. The lights were lowered for obvious reasons but Russia did not mind. Better the lights are too dim than too bright. The front door in which he just came lead directly into a small living area all of which contained a black coffee table that sat in front of a small couch. A sizable TV occupied the space directly across from the couch and coffee table, it was switch off though. The far wall was made up of large windows that stretched up to the ceiling and down to the floor. Their chocolate brown curtains had been pulled away to reveal the winking lights of Washington DC. In the left corner of the room was a small Christmas tree that reminded Ivan of a cartoon America had him watch once, Charlie Brown or something like that. It was like Alfred to choose a small sickly tree and try to nurse it back to health; by the looks of it he had not achieved this goal.

Ivan glanced back around when he heard the front door close and click. He had not been aware that he had wondered over to look out the windows until the noise brought him back from his musings. Alfred was standing ten feet away still near the frontdoor. The golden blonde nation looking confused but interested. America was never not happy to have visitors even if they knocked like ghost bears.

_'Why is he here?'_ Alfred wondered his fingers brushed the back of his neck nervously, not quiet itching more just to feel his own warmth. _'What does he want?'_

Alfred was more expecting to be greeted by a ghost bear than Russia at his front door. Not that they were on bad terms, if anything the relations between their two countries of late rivaled that of the closeness between his and England's. The simple fact was that it was _unexpected_ and because of it Alfred was on his guard. He never forgot the Cold War and probably never would. America knew what Russia was capable of just as he knew that he himself was no longer capable to rival Ivan or really_ anyone_ else now for that matter. Alfred had not liked the way several of the other nations had been eyeing him at the past few meetings, eyes gleaming as they greedily took in his weakening state. Alfred was all too aware that he was a target or perhaps that was just his own paranoia speaking. So dispute his and Russia's improved relations it did not change what had happened in the past or the things they had said to each other. Words that he knew Russia had truly meant.

'_You cannot escape it America… I will turn this world, your world red.' Russia had America cornered, his large chest pinned the shorter man to the conference room's wall. Alfred had his gun pressed into Ivan's jaw. Ivan took no notice, too focused on his own large fingers wrapped around Alfred's neck. Not tight enough to hurt, never to truly hurt but to hold Alfred still and in place._

_'I won't let you.' Alfred 's gun shook, Ivan smiled and leaned in further. The Russian's cool leather fingers began moving in slow smooth circles on the back of Alfred's nape._

_'Oh? Do you know what I could do to your little country? What I plan to do to you?' Russia bared his gleaming white teeth at Alfred; the color seemed strange and foreign some how. The fingers continued their lazy pattern on America's skin. Alfred wondered if they were tracing words that would bleed into him, become him._

_'I… I won't…'_

_'But you will Amerika. You will because…' Russia paused and knelt his forehead into America's his eyes locking with Alfred's. The violet was pulling him in and drowning him. 'I will make you.' **The fingers gently pressed in.**_

Alfred snapped back to the present when he felt a cool palm rest against his forehead, its brother on his hot cheek. Ivan was suddenly very close to him and it unnerved Alfred for the second time that night that he hadn't heard Russia approach. America looked up at Ivan and was all at once very aware of his attire or there lack of. Ivan's purple eyes looked down at him in amusement and warmth, a stark contrast to the way they had looked at him in that particular memory.

"You are far to warm Alfred."

America pulled away and stepped around Russia, Ivan slowly lowered his hands to his sides. _'Hadn't Russia been wearing gloves when he came in?'_ However the Russian's hands had been bare then when they had touched him. Alfred had to put a little distance between them, his weakened mind a product from a weakened body. He was in no mood to deal with fragile situations that he himself might create bringing up the past. _'The past is the past…what matters is the present. In the present Russia and I are….**friends**.'_

"Why are you here?" The question was worded a bit harshly and Alfred instantly wished he could take it back and rephrase it.

"Because its New Years, yes?" Ivan smiled and produced a bottle of Champaign from seemingly nowhere.

"Well that's hardly a _substantial_ answer…."

"It is satisfactory for a _hardly adequate_ question." Russia fired back and Alfred laughed, the mood lightened considerably.

The Russian loosened his cream colored scarf and unbuttoning his heavy winter coat. A slap to his forehead and Alfred darted forward to take the beige coat from Ivan. All the while the American was kicking himself for being a terrible host. Hanging the coat up before returning, America found Ivan had sat down on his couch. The Russian's posture, as always was perfect, his broad back straight and big feet flat pointing forward. The festive bottle had been placed before him on the coffee table. Ivan's head turned so that he could watch America disappear into the living room's joining kitchenette. Russia guessed the blond was questing to retrieve something to drink the Champaign out of. He was proved right when the sickly country returned shortly with a Mickey Mouse mug and a margarita glass. Russia raised his eyebrows at him.

"Take your pick, it's all that is clean cup wise right now."

Wordlessly Russia took the margarita glass from America thinking that at least it was a glass meant to drink alcohol from. Alfred plopped down beside Russia, bouncing slightly from the couch cushions. Making sure to sit far enough away to be cautious but close enough so that Russia wouldn't notice. Tricks he had picked up from their messy past. It was silent for a few moments neither of them making a move towards the Champaign. Russia was intently studying his margarita glass, turning it this way and that watching the dim amber light dance around the rim and wink at him.

"Seriously though what's up?" Alfred finally shifted in his seat to look at Russia over his glasses.

"Currently…" Purple eyes slid up and Russia's head tilted back. Alfred caught sight of the horrendous scars that littered Ivan's pale, translucent neck. "The ceiling, Alfred."

"Don't be a smart ass! You know what I _mean_!" Russia's head slowly eased back down, once again obstructing his scars with his scarf and chin. Ivan caught Alfred staring but gave no reaction, Russia put on his best poker face.

"I'm sure I do not know what you are implying."

"Ok fine! _Why_ are you here? _Why_ now?" Alfred's headache was getting worst. "_What do you want_?"

"Is it costmary to be suspicious of all your guests Alfred? Many would call that being **devastatingly** rude.

A throb in Alfred's temple had the blond leaning over cradling his head in both hands, why did everything with Russia have to be a game? He didn't _feel good_. America didn't want to play any more games, he never had. Staring at the backs of his eyelids, America watched the hazy painful colors of white and orange. He counted the shapes they made while they flared and faded, dancing horribly through his head. The colors brought with them sinking feelings of guilt and exhaustion. The couch creaked and Alfred could suddenly feel a generous amount of Russia. The larger nation's arms were winding through and around him in a half sitting embrace. One of Ivan's massive arms settled about Alfred's middle and his other the small of America's back. Ivan's hands angled slightly upward to mould into America's left side and ribs, long fingers spread out and gently pressed in. Alfred's eyes snapped open at the abrupt closeness; Russia's chin came to rest lightly on top of his messy golden crown and when Ivan finally spoke Alfred could literally feel him talk.

"I'm sorry. I am…I am here to see you because I…" Alfred both heard and _felt_ Russia swallow. "I was worried about…_for_ you…and _I just wanted_…" It was silent then for what must have been a long time. They both sat mostly still, Ivan's fingers would cinch up and then back down flat along America's flank. It seemed to Alfred as if Russia were testing to see how thin he had become, how much he had lost both physically and mentally. This thought angered Alfred; it made the colors behind his eyes turn dark brown and then bright neon red.

"Just wanted to see how far I have _fallen_?" America whispered bitterly into his hands.

"Alfred…That's not w-"

"That's not **what**?" Alfred dropped his hands from his eyes and placed them on to the arm Russia had wrapped around his waist. He pressed his fingers into Ivan's forearm willing Russia to _let him go_, he didn't.

**"Then you are here to gloat?"**

Alfred knew that he was being unreasonable and crossing boundaries that they both had carefully put up but he was just so tired of dealing with the other nations. Watching them watch him with smug satisfaction knowing his country was falling to pieces, that **he** was falling to pieces. The cutting words that were both spoken and unspoken left weaving through Alfred's raw and frail mind. Nightmares inspired by them were too sharp to get past and too many to ignore. America knew Russia was the most powerful nation in the world now. It _made sense_ to him, given past discrepancies that Ivan would want to rub it in his face. Not as obviously and blatantly as the others but in his own discreet mind fuck of a way. In that sense it was worst then how the other nations treated him and it bothered Alfred to think about it. To say Russia totally surprised him by visiting had been a lie. He had been expecting Ivan's visit for sometime now. A visit where Russia would laugh at him with his eyes, drinking in how pathetic America was now. How fucked up his country had become. Well and behold his prediction had come true and it bothered him how badly it hurt to think he was right. Poetic even that the visit was at the end of such a miserable year, Russia had even brought Champaign to celebrate it. The arms around him tightened and America wanted to _scream_.

"Alfred you must _listen_ to m-"

"I won't! I don't have to! This is-!" America gestured wildly around himself. Russia's hands stayed in place despite Alfred's jerky movements, his large warm fingers fretting along America's bare sides and back. "-My house! I know why you're here!"

"You **do not**! If you did you would not be acting this unreasonable!" Ivan growled, the vibrations rumbling through him and into America. Alfred was panting heavily in anger, panic and the exertion of trying to get away. Ivan slid both hands to Alfred's bare front his palms pressing into America, which in turn pressed the struggling blond to him.

**"Let me go!"** Alfred squirmed violently in Russia's hold. He finally broke loose and almost tripped over the coffee table when he bumped its corner, stumbling away. The bottle fell over and rolled off the table with a dull 'thunk' but went completely unnoticed. Russia stood abruptly closely following America's jittery movements with his own fluid ones. His black leather shoes clicked across the floor drowning out America's sock muffled steps.

"Stop! _Stop_!" Alfred commanded as he rapidly backed away, well aware of how sacred he sounded.

The words fell on deaf ears. Ivan gave no notice or reaction to them, continuing predatorily toward the smaller man. Alfred watched Ivan's massive shoulders dip and roll with each thundering step toward him. America did not think Russia would hurt him but he knew how powerful countries treated weaker ones from his own personal experience with England. Russia seemed so big and imposing now, at one time Alfred swore he was almost as tall as Ivan. It hardly seemed that way now. Russia's eyes were studying his own frightened ones intensely; Alfred shivered when he saw them darken. He let out a startled gasp when his bare back collided with the freezing window that was his living room's far wall. America hardly noticed the pain it induced to his aching body so blind he was with panic, with the need to get away. Shaking hands rose in front of Alfred, fingers splayed in an attempt to keep Russia at bay. America's heart lurched in his thin chest when Russia's own much larger one made contact with his fingertips. Alfred had not noticed before but underneath the winter coat Ivan had taken off was a dark chocolate colored turtleneck. The fabric was thick and soft to the touch.

"You_ will_ listen to me Alfred." Russia placed both hands on the window behind America, _caging him in_.

Defiantly America lifted his chin, eyes' locking with Russia's, the effect was lost when his lower lip jumped and trembled. Russia paused and just looked at him for what seemed like forever. His violet eyes tracing along Alfred's paling face before stopping to watch his trembling lips, Russia's pupils dilated. Alfred was unpleasantly reminded of the flash back he had earlier. Russia leaned into him. America's hands flattening against the larger man's sweater covered chest and the Alfred tried not to be surprised to find the other breathing as harshly as he was.

"Don…don't…" Alfred still did not look away even as Ivan's face grew impossibly closer. "St…stop." Ivan's warm breath ghosted over Alfred's lips and cheeks, weaving through his messy hair. Moving his hands from the window Russia placed them lightly on Alfred's shoulders before stepping closer. Ivan slowly slid them down Alfred's naked back, tracing the dipping curve of America's spine with his fingertips.

"No." Russia whispered his pupils growing further until his eyes looked_ black_.

"I…I won't _let_ you…" The words from so long ago spilled over and past America's lips. Russia's nose touched his own, the traveling hands pausing. Alfred saw the recognition of the words past meaning register in Ivan's eyes. America's hands fisted in Ivan's turtleneck, Russia smiled at him.

"Then I will _make_ you."

"Ivan…sto-"Russia covered Alfred's lips with his own.

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><p><em><strong>Present Time<strong>_

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><p>Ivan lifted America up, bringing the blonde man tightly to his chest. Russia then began moving forward carefully through the ruble of America's capitol. Alfred had fallen asleep. At first when America's eyes had not reopened Russia had almost lost it but after hastily pulling off a glove and fitting two fingers to Alfred's neck Ivan had found a pulse. It had been weak but it was there and that was all that mattered to Ivan now. Russia leaned his head back and closed his eyes still walking. There was a pins and needles sensation nipping and pulling at the back of his skull and a pain were his heart once beat. It was the sensation of his children growing nearer, angrier as the approached American shores. They rattled around the Russian warplanes like a hive of angry hornets. Their many outraged voices seemed to be carried on the wind that swept past Russia, tearing at his scarf tails and coat.<p>

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><p><strong>AUTHOR NOTES<strong>

**To answer one more reviewer's question… this story is based on a WIP comic I have up on my DA (Deviant art . com) I am still posting the pages on there and it is further along storyline wise then this fanfic atm. If you guys want to check it out just search my user name, which is Nenema. I am about to post the next page up as a matter of fact!**

**I have truly adored writing this story and doing the comic hugely because of the support/ reviews/ favs I get from you! Thank you so much for reading and supporting me as I plug along! Hope you all have an awesome day /night.**


	5. Chapter 5

Holy mackerel! I am so sorry this chapter took so long to get finished!

I would like to say THANK YOU ALL soooooooo much for all the super awesome and sexy reviews/favs/support for this fic and for my comic up on Deviant Art .com This fic is based off of the comic and the comic is further along then this story. If you want to read it just search my user name, which is Nenema!

Anyway I am sorry I haven't been great about replying to reviews, I will try to be better at that in the future. My failure to reply is in no way an indication that I do not read and enjoy them all greatly, because I do and they are all awesome!

ENOUGH of my blathering please enjoy this next chapter and have a very wonderful day/night depending on where you live.

Cheers!

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><p><em><strong>Two Years Before InvasionPresent Time...Continued from Last Chapter**_

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><p><em>Defiantly America lifted his chin, eyes' locking with Russia's, the effect was lost when his lower lip jumped and trembled. Russia paused and just looked at him for what seemed like forever. His violet eyes tracing along Alfred's paling face before stopping to watch his trembling lips, Russia's pupils dilated. Alfred was unpleasantly reminded of the flash back he had earlier. Russia leaned into him. America's hands flattening against the larger man's sweater covered chest and the Alfred tried not to be surprised to find the other breathing as harshly as he was.<em>

_"Don…don't…" Alfred still did not look away even as Ivan's face grew impossibly closer. "St…stop." Ivan's warm breath ghosted over Alfred's lips and cheeks, weaving through his messy hair. Moving his hands from the window Russia placed them lightly on Alfred's shoulders before stepping closer. Ivan slowly slid them down Alfred's naked back, tracing the dipping curve of America's spine with his fingertips._

_"No." Russia whispered his pupils growing further until his eyes looked black._

_"I…I won't let you…" The words from so long ago spilled over and past America's lips. Russia's nose touched his own, the traveling hands pausing. Alfred saw the recognition of the words past meaning register in Ivan's eyes. America's hands fisted in Ivan's turtleneck, Russia smiled at him._

_"Then I will make you."_

_"Ivan…sto-"Russia covered Alfred's lips with his own._

Steady, balmy fingers grazed up Alfred's back and up into his hair, carding and weaving gently through the messy blonde locks. Warm lips bushed and nibbled from one corner of America's mouth to the other, leaving no space undiscovered or not tasted. America's mind struggled through a heavy fog in which he was sure he was lost and hopelessly drowning. It was as if he were trying to march through thigh deep sand that kept grasping about his legs, pulling and urging him down into it's greedy depths.

Russia's hands cupped Alfred's throbbing skull and began coxing America to angle and tilt his head back and to one side. Pressing his fingers in, Russia gently massaged Alfred's scalp until the shorter man allowed his head to dip and fall back, exposing his throat. Russia cradled the base of America's head with one hand, allowing the other to trace from behind Alfred's right ear and along the underside of his jaw. Languidly, Ivan bent forward to skim his considerable nose down and up the side of Alfred's neck, slowly breathing him in and back out again and again. Ivan paused at America's flushed ear urging Alfred's slight frame to fit against his own more firmly before delicately nipping America's earlobe. A rumbling chuckle shook Ivan's chest and shoulders when America gasped. Scorching breath expanded from Russia's lips to spread along and drift over Alfred's neck and shoulders. Ivan made a small pleased, hungry sound in the back of his throat, dragging his lips haltingly along the trail left behind by his previously exploring fingers.

"…s' to mu..much…I.." Alfred's voice sounded so foreign and distant to him.

The back of his head rested on both the windowpane behind him and in Russia's hand. His body fitting snugly against Ivan's; Alfred could feel so much of the other nation, almost every angle and curve. Russia's free hand trailed down Alfred's sharp ribs to the flat of his stomach nails tickling and feather light along the way. America's lips parted as warm callused fingers fanned out and caressed him just below the naval. Ivan shyly slid his tongue along the arrow of Alfred's collarbone, tasting his flesh and becoming bolder in his strokes.

"…Iv…Ivan…_please_…"

"Please?" Russia's voice came out rough and distracted.

Silver eyebrows rose and Ivan's fingers slipped lower to brush across the waistband of America's PJ pants. Russia moved back up until his mouth was level with Alfred's ear; he blew into it gently, America trembled, vision dancing and swimming. The fingers altered between plucking at America's waistband to lazily caressing loose patterns across the smooth flesh just above them. Alfred struggled to bring his head back down to better focus but when he finally did Ivan fitted their foreheads together, their eyes locking and holding on to one another. Ivan smelled of warmth, the winter outside, crushed leaves and most importantly, of _Russia_. An all too familiar scent that always put Alfred on pins and needles, and not always in a bad way.

_' This….this has to..'_ America thought desperately trying to find purchase for reason inside his mind. His eyes squeezed shut; breath leaving him in ragged bursts and drags. Russia smiled slyly and kissed him again. Alfred's battered senses spun wide and reeled.

"Alfred…" His name rumbled through Ivan's chest to ring in his ears. Russia's voice was low and comforting, reminding Alfred of his old house heater when it hummed and purred to life for the first time that winter.

More importantly however Alfred was remind of his place, of who he was and who had spoken his name.

Russia…Russia was…taking _advantage of him_…

_'Ivan never tried this before when I was stronger…'_ Alfred's thoughts became clearer, fueled with a slow but sharp growing anger and anxiety. _' The only difference now is that I am weak and he knows he can... and that I... could not stop him if he wanted to…and the only reason he wants me….'_

A pain decades old and just as deep reared its ugly head, Alfred gritted his teeth. '_The only reason he wants me is because I'm helpless and because he can.'_

_'And he will unless I move! **Now**!'_

Panting Alfred retched himself violently from Russia, sweeping and ducking away from grasping hands and outstretched arms. Everything was moving in slow motion or at least it seemed that way to America.

Alfred wanted to reason, to _understand_.

He moved in long seeping steps to distance himself from the larger nation but was jolted to a stop when the back of his knees bumped into the arm of his sofa. He stopped then, bringing his arms up to wind around his bare, heaving chest. Emotions hammered at America's mind, leaving him to fumble through a wreckage of confusion, fear and hurt. Russia turned to face Alfred, his expression was…_so_ lost…and _so_ desperate. For a second America wanted to believe that Russia was there because he cared for Alfred, that his affections were tangible and real. Russia's expression hardened at the last moment of indecision and so did Alfred's reserve along with it.

" What…what was _that_…?" Alfred wished he could sound stronger, more sure of himself." What…What are you..?"

" Alfred…"

Russia took a step forward; Alfred's eyes followed the movement and mirrored it with his own step back. At least he tried to step back. The sudden movement caused the backs of his legs to be knocked forward and up, sending him falling and sprawling backward onto the coach. America bounced once on the cushions, jarring his glasses and sending them slipping down his nose. He hastened to sit up but struggled to do so as he was suddenly very dizzy. Finally he rose to a half sitting, half laying down position, hands shaking with the effort.

Glancing over at the two abandoned drinking glasses, America was suddenly painfully embarrassed of them. Embarrassed of how ridiculous the whole situation had shaped up to be and that he was honestly surprised it had turned out this way. Most of all he was embarrassed that he had allowed Russia to take it so far and for believing that things would have turned out differently. Things always took a turn for the worst and never for the better lately, despite Alfred's honest good will and hospitality.

_' Was it really as ridiculous as those two glasses to believe differently…am I really so…stupid?'_ A shadow fell upon Alfred and he jerked his head back up to meet Ivan's gaze and was reminded of another instance in his past when Russia had spoken words that he had been very much afraid of. Words he always feared were true.

* * *

><p><strong><em>During the Cold War<em>**

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><p><em>"Do you think they <strong>really<strong> care at all about you, Amerika? Or what you are **trying** to do?" Russia snarled vehemently at him from across the conference table. Their bosses had just left the room for a short break leaving the two tense nations alone. Thinking, perhaps that the two of them might talk peacefully._

_That had been a mistake._

_Alfred had been about the leave the room to see to a cup of coffee when Russia had suddenly spoken. The negotiations hadn't been going well, the air was so thick with resentment though out the whole meeting that Alfred had been sure he could slice through it like a hot knife through butter. He suddenly wished impossibly that he were back home, curled up on his couch watching cartoons and eating sugary cereal. Alfred did not want to hear what Ivan was about to say because he knew he would carry those words home with him. They would run through his head **again and again** until they left bloody footprints, his mind as susceptible to Russia as wet impressionable sand. Those prints that would never totally fade away, that would leave scars he would revisit in times of weakness and just before slipping away to sleep. America hated words the most in this way and would take a physical injury over a mental one anytime.  
><em>

_"What are you talking about, Russia?" Alfred's hand pressed down and flattened on to the wooden table separating him from Ivan. His boss had said that it was a strong, sturdy table. ' A good foundation to build good relations on with the other countries.' Is what he had said exactly that morning before Russia and his boss had arrived. Alfred frowned and supposed he would have to tell his boss later that he had been wrong._

_"Everyone can see it but you America. Is it because you are so **terribly** stupid? Or perhaps it is because you are blind." Russia shrugged his massive shoulders as if they were discussing the weather. America dug his nails into his palm and into the grain of the table, trying to get a grasp on his emotions so that he could address Russia properly. Russia always had a talent for finding America's fears and weaknesses and turning them over in his giant hands, weaving and tugging them effortlessly through his fingers. Alfred would not let him do it to him this time; he would **not** be Russia's little emotional puppet._

_"I am going to get a cup of coffee, **would you like one too**?" He silently congratulated himself on how mature that had sounded. It had been the exact opposite of what he had wanted to say in his head._

_"Oh, so it is because you are **stupid**."_

_Alfred locked eyes with the larger nation and tried to control the sharp pains in his stomach and chest. They were similar to the feelings one experiences when missing a step and almost falling down. He hated being angry; he hated how it made him feel. America never did well when he was angry, the emotion always threw him and he usually ended up saying something he regretted or making a fool of himself. A quality he had inherited from England, he guessed. So again Alfred steeled himself to keep calm, to not rise to Russia's bait. He slowly lifted his hand from the table and started toward the door._

_'If I can just get away from him then I will be alright.' Alfred thought desperately, repeating the words over and over again as he continued to the door. 'Just a few more steps and I will be all right. I will be all righ-'_

_"I think I would truly hate you if I did not think you to be so ridiculously silly your actions so funny. **Everyone** laughs at you, America. Once you turn you're back, **we all** laugh at you."_

_Alfred quickened his pace. Just three more steps and he would be through the door, away from Russia, away from those terrible words. Away from the room that was shrinking and wallpaper turning red. _

_'Just two steps now. …one ste-'_

_**SLAM**_

_Just as Alfred's hand had closed over the handle Ivan had thrust his fist onto the top of the door, just above Alfred's head. The door snapped close sharply from the small amount that Alfred had managed to pry it open. Somehow Russia had managed to close the distance between them without America knowing, too distracted by the angry roar in his ears.  
><em>

_America froze and Russia sneered._

_"Are you running away because you are trying to be mature or are you running away because you know deep down, that I am right?" Russia leaned into America's personal space keeping one hand-braced against the door, keeping it shut._

_Trapping America._

_Alfred didn't turn around, he thought that somehow if he did not turn around to face Russia the words would not strike him as sharply and would roll off his back._

**_God he hated words._**

_"Because I am right America. That's why they don't listen to you, because you are wrong and you are foolish. You are like a child who had somehow acquired a dangerous toy. That is what you are. That is all **you** will ever be"_

_"You're wrong." Alfred's voice came out low and pained. He literally could feel Russia's grin through the skin on his back. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and prickle unpleasantly._

_"Am I?" Russia placed his free hand over the one America still had gripped on the door handle, keeping the other on the door, bringing the two of them closer together._

_" Then **why** don't they **listen** to you, America? Hmmm?" Russia hummed and licked his lips as if he could taste Alfred, taste his discomfort. "If you're right like you say you are…" Ivan stroked Alfred's shaking hand with his own larger, steady fingers, their bodies bumped together and Russia dug his nails into the back of Alfred's hand. "Then why don't **I** listen to you?"_

_"Get away from me, **Russia**." Alfred growled but refused to move, knowing the other would take it as a sign of weakness. A sign that he had been right and had won._

_"I will tell you why I don't listen to you America, so there is no doubt left in that small golden head of yours." Ivan's nails bit in deeper, Alfred felt something warm bubble up and flow past them to slip around his hand, into his palm. "It is because you are a fool. A naive, young little fool. This is why **I** laugh at you, this is why you will **not** win"_

_Alfred reared back, shoving Russia off of him. Ivan's lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the table, unable to stop himself from the sudden violent force. _

_'Perhaps having the conference there had been a good idea after all.' Alfred thought when Russia grimaced, rubbing his back. Alfred squared his shoulders and flexed his hands into tight fists at his sides, the moon shaped cuts on the back of his left hand burning and shrieking at him in protest._

**_He wanted to hurt Russia._**

_Make him **hurt** as **bad** as he did at that moment._

_That desire left his mind in a perfect clarity. He began to choose his words in such a way that they would never leave Russia. They would curl around him like barbed wire, never letting go and **always** painfully digging **in**. Alfred knew what Russia said would only truly begin to hurt later. That it would eat at him like acid from the inside out but slowly. He was going to make absolutely sure that he returned the favor in kind. He waited for Russia to stop rubbing his back and focus completely on him, so that there would be no doubt in Russia's mind of what he was saying._

_Finally amethyst eyes met crystalline blue and Alfred had him._

_"Would you like to know what you're friends…no you're beloved **'comrades'** have told me? What they **really** think of you and you're cause?" America paused then and saw the child like fear poke holes through the color in Russia's eyes. America debated momentarily if he should continue on but when he felt the broken beating of his heart he hardened back to icy stone._

_"They hate you, Ivan" He said simply. Russia's breath staggered and caught. "Maybe the other's do laugh at me but at least they don't hate me." America knew this was one of Russia's greatest fears._

**_To be alone._**

**_To be hated._**

_He himself understood this fear just as well as Ivan; it was one that they had always shared._

_"You lie!" Russia hissed, he ducked his chin into his scarf so that Alfred would not see it trembling._

_"The only reason they stay with you is because they are afraid of you." America charged on. He did not know if what he was saying was true. It probably wasn't but it was all he had for ammunition, it was all he had to get even. He knew then that Russia had been right about him being a child because children seek petty revenge, as adults do not. Adults could keep quiet their pain and hide it well, let it go even. Take the high road. Be the bigger person._

_Alfred could not but of course neither could Russia._

_"They hate you, Ivan."_

_"**Stop it!** They do not! They love me! We are happy because we are **together**!" Russia's voice broke and he charged Alfred. America did not wince, did not blink. He remained stoic even when Russia slammed his hand into the wall right next to his head. America no longer cared if Russia struck him, in a way he felt as if he deserved it despite the things Ivan had said to him earlier. Alfred may not have started this but he sure as hell would finish it._

_"Take it back, Alfred!"_

_America blinked at the sound of his name from the other's lips. His vision flickered and melted white._

_It had been the first time **in years** Russia had spoken his human name. Alfred could not allow himself to acknowledge that he was beginning to feel terrible. He could not apologize because he knew Russia wouldn't._

_"What do you care what **I** say, Russia?" Alfred pushed Ivan away again, gentler this time. "I'm just a stupid, naive **child** remember?" It was his way of softening, Alfred began to open the door._

_"I… Alfred" Russia started but Alfred cut him off._

_"Its ok Russia because you see, it doesn't matter. What **you** say doesn't matter to me because…" He took a breath then to force out the rest._

_'Finish it. That's all this has been between us… That's all it can ever be.'_

_"**You** don't matter to **me**." The words sounded strange and they were a lie but Russia didn't know that, couldn't know that._

_"And perhaps **they** do love you but you should know that **this** **stupid child**…" Alfred half faced Russia and held up his still bleeding hand and gestured to his heart._

_"Never will."_

_Alfred left then but would never know that of all the things he had said to Russia that his last sentence, the one said as an after thought would be what had wounded Russia most._

_America did not see Russia cup his head in his hands, America's blood staining his fingernails._

_Perhaps they do love you but you should know that this, ' stupid child' never will._

_Never will…never will…never will._

_"He never will…" Russia whispered into his hand, to none._

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><p><em><strong>Two Years Before InvasionPresent Time...Continued from Last Chapter**_

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><p>America blinked and he was again back in the present, facing a very different Russia. In a very different situation and time.<p>

"You… you just…but why?" America's heart was thundering loudly. He wondered if he were to look down at his chest just then that he might be able to see it pulsing up and through his ribs.

"Why?"

Russia took another step forward.

"Why did you do that Russia?"

Another step and then another…

"Is…is this a game..?" Alfred's breathing became labored and he struggled to scoot backwards on the couch, away from Ivan. His eyes were burning and deep within his throat there grew a familiar ache. "You.. you have to leave…I can't.."

"Just…" Russia spoke suddenly; his tone was deep and ravaged with desperation. "Alfred…. just…"

Ivan's violet eyes caught on to America's, narrowing and analyzing. Alfred knew then that Ivan was not about to simply sit down and talk. Russia was not going to stop. Alfred's mind was screaming at him to get up, to move, to find his pistol. He needed to get away. This was dangerous and he had no idea what Ivan was really up to or what he was going to do next. The tentative friendship America had scrounged to build with the other man felt so ridiculous, shattered and hollow now. He felt so stupid for trusting Russia…no… for trusting Ivan. Trusting the other nation to such an extent that America had let him into his home, let Ivan see him so venerable.

_'Stupid why am I always **so** stupid? I guess Russia had been right about me after all…'_

The room shrank and became non-existent until all that was left was he and Russia. Alfred distantly followed the sharp lines of Ivan's tense stance. The stiffening of his arms and legs. It reminded him of the spiders in England's garden as they watched and calculated the next movements of their prey. America's ears roared and he knew he would only have one shot at this…one shot to get away.

"Just…let me…" Ivan's voice was distracted and far away to America, drowned out by the sound of panic that filled and beat in his ears. Vividly, Ivan's eyes traced along Alfred's jaw line following the taught muscle of America's neck, down his chest and stomach. Russia's pink tongue slipped out and licked his lips, pale fingers twitching and clenched at his sides.

"Let me…"

Alfred spun off the coach just as Russia lunged forward; he successfully managed to dodge the other but just barley. America fought to ignore the savage head rush of fevered blood pounding up to his head as he bounded away from the living room and to the wooden door that led to his bedroom. If he could just make inside he might be able to get to his bed stand and into its drawer. The drawer that held a pistol his boss had given him on Christmas that year. Alfred could hear Russia getting his bearings behind him to begin his pursuit. Alfred let out a small noise of triumph as his fingers wrapped around his bedroom door's handle. Heavy footsteps thundered behind him, Alfred could feel their vibrations slipping up his legs, shaking his knees. Russia was getting closer and closer. Alfred's fingers became sweaty and slipped clumsily around the doorknob, each fumble filling him with dread.

_'If he catches a hold of me… I won't be able to get away from him again…'_ America bit his bottom lip as he recalled Ivan's expression and he knew this thought to be true. The doorknob finally turned and America pressing his body against it weakly, the door giving way with a _'swoosh'_ of air and Alfred stumbled into his bedroom.

There was no point in trying to close the door. By the time it would take to turn around and reach for the handle Ivan would already be upon him. Instead Alfred darted into the dark room, the only light source was from the open door in which he just came. Wasting no time Alfred moved through the space, he knew this room well enough to not be bothered by the lack of light. He stretched his hands out in front of him blindly until he felt the reassuring cool surface of his bedside tabletop brush against his fingertips.

"Alfred! Stop!"

_'Like hell!'_ America thought fiercely wrenching open the table's sole drawer, hand thrust inside grasping and searching until…_'Ah ha!'_ His hand closed around the gun's handle and without a second too soon. Whirling back around America squared his shoulders and planted his legs, raising the gun to aim at Russia's silhouette.

"_Don't_ move!" America snarled. "Don't you fuck'in _move_!"

Russia stopped abruptly his figure back lit and dimly outlined in the amber light spilling in from the open doorway. He was about five feet from Alfred but even still America could not see Ivan's face. Ivan could see his though and that worried him. There was a deafening silence that followed, America literally could hear the blood rushing past his ears. He counted everyone of his rapid heartbeats. His hands were shaking badly from the exertion it had taken him to run into his bedroom and to hold the gun. The adrenaline was draining out of him and Alfred suddenly wanted very much to sit down.

"What are you doing, _Amerika_?" Russia's voice surprised Alfred by coming out in a low hungry purr. He had been sure Russia would be angry or put off by his antics. America was pointing a gun at him chest for Christ sakes!

"I could ask _you_ the same question!" Alfred fired back, his brain scrambling as to what to do next. Alfred _did not_ want to shoot Russia.

_He didn't think he could._

"Are you going to shoot me?" Russia's rumbled and he stepped toward America. "Are you going to hurt me, _Alfred_?" His name rolled around on Ivan's tongue as if the Russian wished to saver and swallow it.

"I don't want to…Russia just _stop_!" Alfred's eyes were filling up and spilling over with tears despite the fact that he knew Russia could see him, see everything.

"I don't think you will, Alfred." Russia took another step forward and then another. Alfred stood his ground.

" I don't think you _can_."

_**Click**_.

Alfred pulled back the hammer of the gun, fitting a bullet into the chamber. It was to be meant as a sign that he was serious but the threat fell on deaf ears.

"I don't want to do this Russia…just stop! Just leave!" Alfred's words tumbled over his lips full of anger and hurt. Russia had been one of the few nations left that he had admired and even trusted. Yet here he was taking advantage of America's severely weakened state, tormenting him and playing another one of his games with him.

_Or so Alfred believed._

Alfred wanted so badly to just sit down. He felt so old at that moment, so wretchedly tired. The ability to know what was real and what wasn't had been lost to him through the long years of his country's suffering and the endless depressions. The arm holding the gun was growing stiff and numb but at least Russia had stopped advancing forward but was now only a mere three feet away. Alfred's eyes slid down and counted the steps left between them.

There were too many and too few.

"What do you fear so? Do you think I am going to hurt you, Alfred?" The words were spoken gently, curling in the pit of America's stomach and gliding along his skin. "Do you actually believe I could?"

Alfred barked out an empty laugh. "Heck, I don't know Russia! **Why not**?" His shoulders started shaking."**Why not** hurt me? _Everyone_ else wants to!"

"Alfred…"

" Have you seen the way they _look at me_?" Alfred's voice pitched up painfully and he knew he was beyond control and racing toward hysterics. "Have you heard the things they have said? I'm sure you have! You're a smart guy, it must have given you some ideas right?" America spread his free arm out in a wide gesture. "I mean who's to stop you, hmmm? To stop them? Certainly _not_ me! What better way then to just take what you want! Is this what you want, Ivan? **Me like this**" America gestured to Russia and then back to himself, hands sweeping over his sharp ribs and a hollow, _hungry_ stomach.

"Do you really think so lowly of me, Alfred?" Russia closed the distance between them until his chest pressed into the barrel of America's gun.

"I would never hurt you, Alfred."

"Stop _doing that_! Stop saying my name like I…" Russia's hands came up and his fingers caressed along Alfred's gun bearing hand and wrist.

"Like _what_, Alfred?" Russia murmured.

" Like I…belong to you…" Alfred whispered, breath catching as Ivan's hands moved to fan out and cradle along the sensitive underside of his arm Russia deftly removed the gun from Alfred's fingertips and tossed it on the bed beside them. The larger man then pulled Alfred into his arms and America allowed him to do so. Allowing all the years of frustration, fear and pain be finally acknowledged and take him over, Alfred began crying in earnest. Russia tilted his head so that his cheek could rest atop America's golden crown, his arms wrapped protectively around the shorter nation, keeping him close and holding him together. America's hands clutched about him and dug into his back, fisting his sweater in tight, desperate knots.

"Like you belong to me." Russia whispered into America's hair and began rocking him back and forth humming an old lullaby he no longer remembered the words for.

It was the first time in many years that Alfred felt safe, could sincerely believe that everything would be all right.

_He had been wrong._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Time: Invasion<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>'I must have ended up resting my eyes'<em>

Alfred's thoughts were coming back to him slowly but like shy goldfish dancing just below the surface of a pond, each time he would reach out for them they would flit and slip away. Dimly he knew he was in a great deal of pain but he could not quiet remember _why_. America was also becoming aware that he was not alone and was being carried by someone. Someone who had strong arms and capable hands, kind hands that kept him away from the sharp ground blow him. Someone who was holding Alfred as if he was still a small child and he guessed in some ways he was. Blue eyes struggled to open so that they could look around and understand.

_Why was he in so much pain?_

_Why did the air reek of death and desperation?_

There were distant disturbing sounds that snaked into his ears, through his chest, tangling up his stomach in knots. It was the sound of people screaming. Screaming up to the sky.

**Screaming for _him_.**

Alfred's eyes shot open and he struggled against the person who was holding him, panting and reeling. They made a distressed sound in the back of their throat and began whispering soothing words that Alfred didn't understand but the effect was still the same. After a few unbearable moments the panic died down to a low glowing simmer, never fully leaving him to lurk hungrily, just below the surface of his skin. The shot of adrenaline was enough to remind Alfred of who he was and why there was screaming to begin with.

He was America and America was being violently invaded.

His vision focused and filled completely by who was carrying him, the man who was carrying him.

_" Russia…"_ Alfred smiled despite himself and Ivan looked down at him.

Ivan's expression flickered quickly from warm acknowledgement at his softly spoken name, to deeply worried then finally back to emotionless. Russia's sudden stoic expression did not surprise Alfred. He knew the other nation well enough to know that was just Ivan's reaction when his emotions became too great, too _dangerous_ to openly let loose and display. It did however, disturb him because he knew that when Russia's face went blank it usually meant his following actions would be extremely intense and usually violent. The only other time Alfred had witnessed this expression on Russia had been back during World War 2 when Nazi Germany invaded Russia, reneging on their treaty. America could remember the horrified, ghastly faces of the German troops as they ran from the Russian soldiers and toward his American army. Ivan followed closely behind them, nearly covered in blood but expressing nothing.

Russia shifted Alfred in his arms, bringing the two of them closer together. Alfred looked beyond the other nation to take in his surroundings. He knew instantly that they were somewhere in the heart of his capitol, this discovery was based on his _senses_ and not from the appearance of his once golden city. There were no monuments or landmarks left to even tell that it had been a city at all to begin with. Everything had been leveled by the bombs or was left smoldering, shedding black oily smoke that rolled lazily into the sky. Buildings stood as giant skeletons, hollowed and gutted by the flames left over from the initial attack.

America could tell it was later in the day because the sky had taken a rich, red violet hue apposed to the bloody crimson he had lost consciousness to. The air burned Alfred's throat and nose so pressed his face into Russia's scarf hoping to escape from the smell but mostly so that he wouldn't have to see anymore.

They carried on like that for a long time. Alfred listened to the crunching and clicking of Russia's boots echoing along his ruined streets and Russia listened to Alfred breathe, Russia remained eerily quiet, making sure that America continued to do so. While Alfred kept his face buried seeing nothing, Russia opened his eyes wide and looked at everything. Everything that had been just a very short time ago, alive and still very much a part of Alfred, of America. There were not enough tears he could shed to properly greave for what had been lost and what America was still losing. Russia just couldn't quiet wrap his head around it and he doubted if he ever truly would.

Absurdly he thought of the birthday gift he had left behind in his haste to reach America and find Alfred. The present lay securely on his bedroom's dresser, set out the night before so that it would be impossible for him to forget the following day. Russia had not wrapped it for the sole purpose that he would be able to wined it about America and watch his reaction to it. It was a scarf; much like his own cream colored one but had been made by different hands, _his_ hands to be exact. He had stayed up long into the night and early hours of the morning making it weeks before. He had botched several in his attempt to remember what his sister had taught him long ago but after his third time he had gotten it right. The scarf was a light robin egg blue in the center that gradually eased out to warm creamy amber at both ends. Russia knew that the scarf would be a compliment to Alfred's beautiful eyes and at the same time have something that Russia had made draped around him. That thought had greatly appealed to Russia as it still did now. He wished he had thought to bring it, if anything it could have acted as a small comfort to Alfred amongst all of the bright and terrible chaos.

The chaos that **_they_** had created, that **_they_** had savagely inflicted on America and his children.

The only comfort to Russia was the knowledge of how _badly_ he was going to hurt them. Make them scream and beg in apologies to Alfred and to himself. Make _them_ realize the gravity of what they had done and then shove their noses into it again and again. Like salt and vinegar scrubbed into an open wound.

Ivan would delight in making them _writhe_ and **burn**.

Alfred watched Russia closely as the winter nation surveyed America's crumbling capitol. Russia hadn't stopped walking but had slowed down greatly. Alfred glanced up when he both heard and felt Russia's heart pick up and beat loudly in his massive chest to pulse against Alfred's chin and lips. He pressed his left hand to the sound and gasped when he felt hot liquid soak up through the fingers of his glove. He pulled back to examine his hand and was horrified to find it stained with blood. For one horrible moment Alfred thought Russia had been shot and he was only now realizing it. However on closer inspection Alfred realized that Russia's heart had recently fallen out and had been forced back into his chest, most likely by Russia himself. America had never witnessed this event for himself firsthand but had been made privy to it through stories told by the other nations. They had said that Ivan's heart would literally tumble out of his chest in times of great stress, sorrow or overwhelming emotions. They had also said that it was very painful for Russia but when Alfred looked up at Ivan's face, there was no indication that he was hurting or felt anything at all.

Keeping one hand over the hot, heart shaped bloodstain on Ivan's chest, Alfred subtly tilted his head to one side to get a better view of Russia's face. Curious blue eyes rounded and scanned across Ivan's ruddy cheeks, large nose, and tight lips only to halt to an abrupt stop when they came to Russia's amethyst eyes. Where as the rest of Ivan's face told nothing about what Russia was feeling his eyes were a different story. Ivan's eyes expressed _everything_ and America felt as if ice were sliding around in his stomach, making him choke and feel sick. Searching through those violent, _violet_ eyes, Alfred suddenly became terribly afraid but not for himself.

**_Alfred was afraid for them._**


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow what up? Where have I been? Awesoming.**

In all seriousness my apologies this took so long to update. You see I am an artist first and a writer second. In short I have been working on the comic that gave birth to this story quiet avidly that I put this fic on the back is not to say that I do not both read and imensly enjoy all of your thoughtful comments and feedback, because I do and thank you for them _**very very very**_ much! Your support is most apreciated and is a big piece of the pie as to why (rhymed there lol) I have kept this fanfic going!

So cheers to you!

**Any way I sincerely hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

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><p>"Tell me, Alfred…"<p>

The tight rope of surprise restricted America's heart and jerked up, bringing Russia back into acute focus. America swallowed hard and struggling to listen to what Ivan was saying. The battered nation had been lost in his thoughts, observing the changing colors in Russia's eyes, trying to make sense of them.

The hand that Ivan had been using to cradle Alfred's head, came up and slowly tilted him forward so that they could be at the same eye level. This was one of the many small considerations that Russia would always lavish upon Alfred. Ivan came to a halt at what appeared to be the outcropping of America's capitol. Alfred broke Ivan's gaze to look around them.

_When had they exited the city?_

Russia had seemed to be walking so slowly like he was wading through murky water or moving over broken glass. Then again perhaps it was just Alfred who had been stuck in slow motion, his reality seemed to slow to a rough stop-and-go ever since the first bomb had struck. Since the first flash of agony, opening his red eyes to the endless screaming.

_Always the screaming._

America and his children had been stupefied in the impossibility of what had happened. The ungraspable future still to come and the sinking feeling that Alfred got when he thought of what Russia might do. What he himself would not and could not do.

"Tell me where they are." Ivan's cool cheek rested against his own, lips brushing and coxing the shell of his ear.

It was almost as if Russia were trying to will the answers out of him by his kind actions alone.

The Russian held Alfred half flushed against his much larger, much stronger frame. Had it been a different situation Alfred might have been intimidated by the sheer _possessiveness_ of Ivan's hold, the firm but yielding hands that held him so very close and in place.

America's eyebrows furrowed to the interruption to the flow of his scattered thoughts, this disruption flaring bright and hot in his personal slow reality. The shot of panic only to be drugged by the smoke that stretched lazily away from burning buildings to reach toward the sky. The smoke looked like fat black houseflies that hung over the open rotting carcass that was his country, his body and heart.

There was the ever-present shill ringing in his ears, Alfred looked about them at everything and at nothing.

Conflicting instincts and emotions kept clashing, fear and desperation that churned his empty stomach up and back over. The fires burning his people peeled the ocean blue of his eyes to become orange and red.

It took _everything_ in him to reply.

"I….Ru..Russia." Alfred's voice came out parched and as rough as the ground under Ivan's feet.

This new effort to answer and please was instantly rewarded with the misery of acknowledging reality; so intense it nearly silenced Alfred again completely.

Alfred's eyes widened, it seemed that by speaking he had awoken some terrible beast that had lain dormant in his half couscous state of mind. That by understanding and trying to reply to Russia's question had brought about reality and it was slamming thunderously down around him, Alfred's own frail voice had literally awakened himself to a living hell. The sudden awareness was as overwhelming as when one is half asleep in a warm, dark room, only to be blinded when someone carelessly switches on a bright light.

Alfred could not describe in _what way_ he was hurting because he could hardly explain it to _himself_. It was unlike any sensation he had ever felt before; the only word that came close was burning. Once his mind wrapped around that phrase it would not unwrap from it. The word repeating over and over again in his head as wave after wave of dull, throbbing agony tore and mutilated him from the inside out. America's eyes spilled over and he grabbed onto Ivan, fingers pulling at a strong shoulder, digging in.

"I don't….I can't…it's…!" Alfred smashed his words and thoughts together; frantically hoping that if he could just get them _**out**_ he might make sense to Russia, that Ivan could piece them together and allow America to escape back into himself, to rest again.

Alfred wanted Ivan to understand that his previous request was one that was beyond what he could satisfy. America could not tell Ivan where the invaders were because he simply couldn't focus. The bombs were still going off, people were still dying and to try to locate who was where through that constant avalanche of chaos was just inconceivable. Alfred was barley able to hold himself back from trying to get free and run back into his capitol, his instincts as a nation screaming at him to find and help his people.

_Get up. Go Help. Find them. Find them. Find them. They're burning. Burning. Burning. Burning._

_**I'm burning.**_

**_Burning. Burning. Burning!_**

"It…_hurts_…" Alfred fruitlessly licked at his spitting lips and tried again. Letting go of Ivan, Alfred fisted his paling hair into tight knots, weaved through and past bleeding fingers.

"S..so much..Iv..Ivan.." His throat wanted to close up but he didn't let it, continuing to swallow down putrid air and back out important words. "So…I..I **don't**…_know_."

Russia held him tighter and looked at America with a frantic regret, knowing he had spoken carelessly and in doing so had unintentionally overwhelmed Alfred. His silver eyebrows slanted up at such an angle Russia thought they would split open his forehead.

"Wor…worthless…I…I'm sor…sorry.." Alfred snarled at himself, voice tight and bitter.

_Worthless…I can't get up. I can't help them. I can't find them. Burning. Burning. Burning._

"It's ok, Alfred."

**A break in the pattern.**

There seemed to be an abrupt blanket of snow over the fire that was eating away at America. Red eyes returned to a glassy blue and Alfred could feel something give way and change.

_But what?_

"I'm here."

Ghosting movements passed over Alfred's fevered flesh, wrapping delicately around him and soaking in to just beneath his skin. Changing…something was changing again. Shifting the colors in his skies from grotesque maroon to rich amaranthine purple.

"I will take care of you."

Russia's voice tipped down low and smooth. Alfred wished there were words he could fit together to offer Ivan just how much that meant to him. Russia moved America against himself. Alfred in turn clung on and draped himself over the shoulders of the other nation as if he could become part of Russia; in that moment he desperately wanted to, delirious with grateful relief.

He wanted to ask Russia what was happening, why he suddenly felt so much better. America couldn't help but feel that Russia somehow knew, that he was part of it. Hundreds of invisible fingers seemed to be placing themselves upon him; Alfred had never felt this sensation before. All he knew was that they were important but he couldn't grasp as to _why_ or _how_. The pain was still there but it seemed irrelevant, he felt impossibly safe.

"I promise, America, it will be ok."

Voices painted in foreign tones whispered across Alfred's wrecked land. He could hear the words but they were intangible and lost to him, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"It will be ok, Alfred."

Russia repeated and America believed him because all at once his people stopped screaming and Alfred finally understood.

_The Russian troops had arrived._

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><p><em>Blood…<em>

There is just so much…._blood._

It covered everything, covered him. Blood from the 'animals' who had nearly taken everything away from him. The red liquid appeared black between the sporadic hot flashes of white light that erupted from the barrel of his gun as he shot them all to hell.

Ivan remembered the first time blood had been spilled by his hands, remembered how it gushed and sprayed out to stain him, taint him. He recalled how he had been horrifically surprised by just how hot it was, so hot it seemed to burn him, sear and melt away his skin. However the blood being spilt now felt cold to Russia, probably because he hardly felt anything at all.

He didn't feel it as it splattered over him to run down his pale cheeks and under his chin. The black, cold substance was washing away the American blood that had been there before, leaving Ivan not feeling dirty but_ oh so clean._

Screams eventually died out and strained thin.

America had begged him not to do this, hadn't he?

Not to leave him.

Not to kill them.

Frantic hands scrambled and grabbed at his boots, Russia sneered and pressed down hard. The hands stilled and fell away.

_Russia grinned._

It hadn't been difficult to find them really. Ivan had simply opened himself up, his troops had just arrived on American soil, and this doubling his senses and making him feel strong, alive in a way but very much dead in another.

_The faceless ones_ had been in America's capitol celebrating their supposed victory. Voices high and bright with excitement. Their joy however had rapidly churned over to confusion and broke into horror. Since Russia now had a strong presence throughout America due to his still arriving soldiers, Ivan could feel his children finding them all over.

Like a doctor ridding a patient of tumors, Russia jammed in his wrath and cut them out. There were no words for how Russia was feeling; his emotions had him dumb, deaf and blind.

Ivan had lost grip, and was losing himself.

Russia dimly understood there were many of them but he was a great deal more. Currently he was standing in a crowd of corpses, fallen enemy soldiers that he gave no attention to after they had fallen to the ground around him. Ivan did not stop to ask questions or inquire as to who they were or why they had attacked America.

Who and why would come later, in the now there was just the fact that they had attacked and Ivan could see nothing but Alfred's blood red eyes in his head, spinning his world in unstable vivid colors. Russia would know the leader once he found them. Nations stood out red hot from the rest of their humans; the people around him now had no real color and appeared to Ivan as just an unimportant mass. A mess to be briefly dealt with and brutally destroyed, Ivan was saving his full attentions for their leader.

Amongst the invaders Russia also found Alfred's children. Their backs to the wall, eyes flashing and fighting in defiance even though they were grossly outnumbered.

_Well not anymore…._

**"They killed her!"**

A man's voice cried brokenly to Ivan's far right. Russia looked around and found the source of the sound coming from a kneeling figure, hunched protectively and impossibly small over a slighter, crumpled one. The two were dwarfed by a crumbling apartment building, which seemed about to crush them under the weight of its sheer size. Ivan started toward the voice and shape of a weeping man.

A part of him said to ignore them that by staying would not help. Listening would not change what had happened, why the man was crying. Russia could not stop himself despite this; his feet carried him onward ignorant of logic, moved by human feeling. Nations really were powerless to the humans they protected, this being either their children or who they themselves held reservations for. They existed to act as the physical embodiment of their countries people, possessing their own emotions but always drawn to the help and serve.

"I wanted to get her a cake at the store, because this is her favorite holiday and I…"

On closer inspection Russia made out the details of the crouching form to be that of a sobbing man and a child beneath him. Ivan suddenly came rushing back into himself feeling cold and horribly sick. The man's was holding the child so that her head was resting in his lap, round face tilted up to Ivan. The man was not looking at Russia but at his dead child, Ivan wondered how the father had even known he was there at all.

It then occurred to Ivan that perhaps the man didn't and was just talking out loud.

Grief was an odd living thing, both ignorant and sensitive to what transpired around it.

Like Russia the man was covered in large black splotches but not from spilling blood but from trying to stop the spilling of his daughter's.

"I noticed she was admiring one in the store's bakery when we were shopping yesterday, a small red and white one…so I got up early to buy it….to surprise her."

The man paused and looked up at Ivan, Russia's breath painfully caught in his throat.

_"I brought you something!" Glittering blue eyes carried with a breathy happy voice._

_"Is there an celebratory occasion I was unaware of?" Ivan asked tensely, eying the hideous pink cupcake thrust under his nose._

_"Does there need to be a special occasion to surprise a buddy?" Alfred had chuckled and danced away, walking on the balls of his feel so he was always light and bouncy. Russia had watched him go unaware of the grin that America had transferred from himself to Ivan's lips._

Russia blinked sharply wrenching away from the memory, feeling too much and sorely wishing not to.

"We usually can't buy things like that because its just the two of us and the economy has been so bad….I thought that if I could just do this one thing for her….that I could be…" The man looked back down at his child and smoothed her dirty hair away from her face.

"A good father…. if only for awhile….if only for today…."

Russia felt something hot slide down his cheek but gave no move or reaction to it.

_"But I'm not…!"_

The man pulled the girl farther onto his lap, half embracing her and slowly rocking back and forth in slow jerky movements.

"They came when I was away…bombing our home while she was still sleeping…and I felt it….I felt it like **I** was the one who was dieing…"

Familiar tones carried in the voices of Russia's children echoed along the broken walls that made up the burning city. Some of Ivan's soldiers were following the sound of the man's raw voice.

Shapes appeared through the smoke and all at once Ivan's whispering children, their eyes wide and white as they looked upon the crying father and dead child, surrounded Russia and the man. They seemed to hardly notice Russia or the bodies of the enemy soldiers he had butchered around them. One of Ivan's children, a middle aged man knelt down and reached for the weeping man, whispering in soothing words that only Ivan and the other soldiers could understand. The Russian soldier gently placed his hand on the middle of the man's back and switched to soft, broken English.

"Come with us. We care for both of you, get you warm and cleaned up, yes?" The intended soothing words had the opposite effect on the man. He looked up fearfully at the soldier, green eyes wide and frantic as if he only just realized their presence.

**"No! I won't let you!"**

His hands stilling through this daughter's hair, she only looked to be ten years old with round cheeks and small dirty hands. Ivan wondered if she would have laughed in excitement when given the cake her father wanted to surprise her with.

What color had her eyes been?

Did she smile often or dance endearingly as Alfred did when excited or listening to jazz music?

Who was she and who would she have become?

"Won't let us do what?" The soldier asked softly, barely audible after a few measured moments.

"I won't let you 'take care of me', this is…" The man briefly removed his hands to gesture jerkily to his clothes that were stained red and black.

"All I have left of her…"

Ivan's jaw tightened and understood what the man meant. His soldier did as well. The man did not want them to take him away and clean him, wash his clothes. The red stains covering the fabric of the father's shirt, pants and streaking through his graying hair was her blood.

Blood was all that he had left of his daughter, the remnants of her last moments living. The man did not want them to take that away from him, take her away from him.

"Forgive me. Please allow me to stay here." Russia's soldier moved closer to the man, Ivan could physically feel his child's empathy for the father. "I would like to keep you both company, if I may?"

However the man was not looking at him anymore but back down at his daughter, eyes distant and ears unhearing again after the promise of peace. The Russian soldier did not remove his hand from the father's back and remained silent, the other soldiers moved away to set up watch.

Ivan stepped back and turned slowly away. His children watched him go but made no move to interact with him. They did not have to, in a way they understood what he was and if Russia wanted to he could command them at will.

He had no desire to lead anyone however and the soldiers themselves had already acted out the only command he would have given. That order to stay with and protect the American man and his dead child for as long as he wanted to remain there. Russia wondered if the man would ever smile again at all.

_"I wanted to get her a cake at the store, because this is her favorite holiday…"_

_"I thought that if I could just do this one thing for her….that I could be…"_

Ivan swallowed desperately around the closing of his throat, wanting to remember and forget at the same time. He could hear Alfred's desperate voice blending with that of the grieving father, Ivan had to fight down the urge to go back to Alfred.

He had not been prepared to find that man and his child, Ivan had gone into the capitol mind hard and set on vengeance. Russia had wanted to numb himself with the mindless action of killing, before he found that man Ivan had felt nothing but rage. The hot emotion was still there but along with it was that of a deep feeling of sickness. The images and words of a man who had just lost his reason for living struck far to close to home for Ivan. It made the shapes around him sharpen and become too real.

"How will he come back from this?" Russia whispered brokenly, remembering the first time he had realized he was in love with Alfred.

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><p>It was the end of World War 2 and the Allies had been celebrating, everyone except Ivan and Alfred. Not to say the America was not celebrating, Russia had yet to see him at the party. He sat still and bored as the other nations shouted and danced their joys, their happiness was not from the fact that they had won the war but that <em>they had not lost it<em>. A notion that Ivan himself could understand and gravely appreciate.

There was still so much to rebuild, healing that would never truly complete. They may not have actually lost the war but that did not mean they had been at all spared. For the moment this fact was placed in the back of everyone's mind, everyone's except Russia's. There was still the snarling of his people, the farmers who had been forced to burn their homes and food as to keep the Axis Powers from obtaining it. The fools had not learned from the example he had set of Napoleon, did not learn what the gravity of his wrath entailed.

In the end it had been both he and Alfred, standing opposite each other, Russia smiling at him as the Axis soldiers run away from his children so that they could be captured by America's. Despite the war being won Russia was far from finished. Soundlessly Ivan rose from the small table he had been sitting at, sliding his drink along and up with him. None of the other Allies stopped him or asked where he was headed. This was not in respect for Ivan's privacy but from their new found fear of him. They had been there when the Russians invaded Germany, had seen what they had done.

The celebrations were being held in one of the few remaining buildings in London, Arthur had insisted and had earned the right to do so with his valiant fighting in the war. Russia breathed in deep as he stepped out into the buzzing night air, which hung in curtains over the city street. England's children were laughing and dancing despite that ruble that littered the pavement and their obvious wrecked city. Ivan watched them and smiled despite himself, they were a very strong people and England has the right to be proud.

It was late yet you wouldn't know it by the vast activity through out London and in all the Allies cities and towns that night. Yes victory was a grand thing Ivan thought but revenge was even grander.

"Ok but you gotta be careful with it though!" A familiar voice sounded from around the corner of the building Ivan was standing in front of.

"I will! _I will_! Just light it already!" Came a different voice, younge and ritch with English tones.

Russia started toward the two voices languidly, sipping his strong drink as he went.

"Oh man, if Arthur knew I was allowing one of his own such frivolity I would be in for a serious walloping!"

"Who is Arthur?" The youthful voice asked curiously.

"No body, no body. Ok do you know what your wish is?"

Russia came around the corner just in time to see America, still clad in his pilot uniform, kneeling before an English youth. The enthusiastic blonde's attention as totally on the boy, holding before him a small stick that was very thin and half as long as Alfred's forearm. The boy appeared to be about twelve and could hardly sit still in the excitement of the moment, a tired but pleased woman at the boy's side watching the American interact with her son.

"Yes!" The boy exclaimed tiny hands coming up as Alfred passed the funny little stick to him, the child held the slender twig as if it were the Holy Grail itself.

"Ok now remember what I told you?" Alfred said in sudden grave seriousness.

"As soon as it lights…" The boy turned mock serious to mirror Alfred.

"You have to wave it around and dance with your friends but don't touch the end!" Alfred inclined his head back to the group of similar aged boys behind him. The small group whispering excitedly to each other, watching the American in rapture but far to shy to get any closer. Ivan snorted in amusement under his breath.

Without further ado the American whipped out a small silver lighter and with a **crack** light it and held it up to the tip of the sick, farthest away from the boy's trembling hands. All at once there was a burst of light and the end exploded in vibrant whites, hot pinks and gold. The boy gave a gasp but did not shy from the bright hissing colors, his mother on the other hand looked a bit distressed. Alfred smiled up at her reassuringly and the tension in her shoulders eased.

"Wha…what is it?" He asked breathlessly.

"Why it's liquid fire and magic!" Alfred exclaimed as if it were the most common knowledge there was, gloved hands sweeping wide and all about them.

The boy looked from the incredible object in his fingers to Alfred forgetting all at once what he was suppose to do.

"Well go on then!" Alfred said with a kind voice and a gentle smile. "If you don't run and dance your wish won't come true!"

That did it. Off the boy went shouting and laughing his friends that quickly joined him to share in his treasure. The small firework sending fragments of light shooting off every which way, Russia did not miss the grateful look the woman shot Alfred as he got to his feet before she went to watch over her boy. Alfred stayed in place, hands clasping behind his back as he watched them go.

A warmth settled in Ivan's chest at the scene that had nothing to do with the alcohol he was drinking. America's back stayed facing Russia giving the other nation some time to consider the him.

Russia had never known quiet what to make of the boy who at such a young age was so strong and unfeelingly met his eye with neither nervousness or fear. The American nation seemed to be always moving forward with his chin raised and voice sure and bright. He could be most infuriating at times mainly due to his difference of opinion with that to Russia's on how Government was to be run or how he handled his children. But that never stopped Russia from acknowledging the young man and respecting him, if only a little begrudgingly.

Russia seemed to always be following Alfred, this being with his eyes, thoughts or movements was irrelevant. He wished secretly that America would follow him too, if only a little. It was tremendously frustrating to Russia in way that he couldn't quiet understand when ever he watched Alfred in a group of nations, looking at all of them so avidly yet never at him.

Russia wanted America to look at him and only him. It was Russia who stood tall and strong next to him, not England or China or France but he, Russia. Alfred owed him that consideration; his devote attention, owed him much more.

"Do you make a habit out of staring at people or am I just special?"

Russia jumped a little and cursed himself for it, eyes now glued to the back of America's head. The younger nation had not turned around to address him but his voice was so different to everything around them that to Russia it had seemed quiet loud.

"How very arrogant of you Amerika, to consider yourself favored in my attentions." Russia fired back somewhat harshly. He hadn't intended to sound rude but he also didn't enjoy being taken by surprise.

"Why else would you be staring at me for almost three minutes now?" America said nonchalantly still facing away from Ivan, giving off an air that he really did not care if Russia answered him or not. This provoked Ivan into action, he would make America listen and care. Make him look at Ivan.

"How do you know I am not merely plotting to harm you? The war is over and with it our common foe." Russia moved forward slowly closing the sizable gap between he and Alfred, movements bordering on predatory.

"Hmm and do you plan to hurt me Russia?" Alfred gracefully pivoted on his left heel to sweep around and look at Ivan, blue eyes flashing in warm amusement. Ivan's heart stuttered.

"I could." Russia drawled picking his way through the small bits of litter and left over war wreckage, eyes locking onto Alfred's. He wanted Alfred to look at him, acknowledge him, follow him with blue kind eyes the way he followed America with his. He was getting close to America now, could see the reflection of the saturated street lights in his eyes.

"You could." Alfred agreed but stood his ground. "But why would you want to do that to me Russia?"

_'To make you see. To work out the pain in my chest that won't seem to go away. Pain I can't make stop because your always there, even when your not.'_ Was what Russia wanted to say to America but didn't.

Instead he reached for Alfred to pull the other man in close but Alfred moved away. Russia's hand fell back to his side and he looked at Alfred with a desperation that he couldn't quiet understand. America turned away from Russia again to watch to boy laugh and play with his friends, Russia had forgotten all about them.

"We have not won anything." Alfred said in a voice that ran dull and flat. "That boy wished for his father to come back but his father is dead."

Russia remained silent and moved to stand at Alfred's side, watching the boy and mother as well. America understood war in the same vain that he did but out of curiosity he asked him.

"If this is not victory then what is it?"

Alfred's face eased somewhat and he half turned to look up at Russia wearing a face so honest it startled Ivan.

"Peace." Ivan's eyes widened and his throat caught at the truth of what Alfred had just said. "This is peace nothing more and nothing less."

Alfred's shoulder brushed Ivan's as he walked forward to join the boy and his friends, offering generous smiles and more sparklers for the children to dance and run with. Ivan watched him go laughing and weaving though the crowds hardly breathing and realizing he was devastatingly in love.

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><p>R&amp;R my lovelies! 3 Comic can be read on my DA just go to my profile to get the link. :]<p> 


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